Birth of a Nightmare Man
by Tiro
Summary: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord from ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.
1. Chapter 1

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord from ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

The prequel of _The Nightmare Man _is finally here!

Enjoy reading, everyone.

-o-

**Chapter One**

Voldemort was dead. Celebrations were held all over Britain. The Dark Lord had been defeated! They hailed people fighting in the final battle as heroes. And of course, the greatest hero of them all; Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the great headmaster of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin First Class, the Supreme Mugwump and the Chief Warlock. He had defeated not one but _two _Dark Lords in one century, and he took it with grace. He spoke warmly of his allies, and wished for a long, peaceful time now when the war with the dark side of magic was finally over.

Only he wasn't the hero. The one who had actually killed Voldemort, saving people from a lot of misery, was a person whose name was not spoken of at all. Harry James Potter was the Prophecy Child but was declared the next Dark Lord within the first two hours of his final defeat of Voldemort and therefore, as the celebrations took place, he was in a cell at Azkaban.

Harry was glad he still had most of his priced possessions on his person, that he hadn't let Hermione hang onto them but he couldn't use any of them. His wand was gone, the map was useless here and his broom couldn't get him through the thick steel bars. He couldn't use any wandless magic either, thick chains around him preventing the use of magic. He pulled his robe closer against the cold that seemed to seep from the walls itself.

He didn't understand why he was there. Albus Dumbledore had always supported Harry, always been behind him and ready to step in and aid when he needed help but now that same man had declared Harry Potter insane, and evil. He had pointed at Harry and said he was the next Dark Lord.

Why would he do something like that? Did he wish to take the fame for himself? Albus didn't have to throw Harry into prison for that; he would've given the man that and settled down somewhere far away from people.

Harry heard surviving Death Eaters screaming in their cells; at him, at nothing, at the dark that closed up around them. He didn't speak. There was nothing to say to them, but he was sure their screams would drive him mad. There was no way anyone could hold him here without a trial, like they had done to Sirius.

Or could they? From what Harry had seen, the public worshipped Albus Dumbledore as if the sun rose from his arse. They would listen to what he said, and what he had said earlier was enough for Harry.

He wasn't insane. He wasn't evil. But if Albus Dumbledore wanted the rest of the world to think that, he only needed to say it. Could he really be so cruel? Harry choked back a sob and buried his face in his arms. Were all those kind words a lie? How could a man lie so smoothly, how could he look like he cared?

Had he even done the right thing, killing Voldemort? The man was insane yes, but… Harry felt tears soak his robe and clenched his teeth.

People outside, free people, celebrated the death of a tyrant. Harry James Potter was beginning to regret that he was the one who actually killed that tyrant.

-o-

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, having declined the post as the new Minister by saying he belonged at Hogwarts as long as the staff would have him. They were all thrilled to have him stay.

He looked over a photo, a young Harry James Potter and sighed. It was a sad fate for the last of the Potters. Albus had calculated that Harry would die fighting Voldemort, and the final blow to Voldemort would be dealt by Albus himself. But Harry hadn't died, and it was too much of a risk to let him remain free. That didn't mean he wanted Harry to be where he was now, this young child he had watched grow up into a young man.

"Oh, Fawkes…" he said, leaning back and looking at his Phoenix. "Harry should have been at peace now, with his parents and their friends. Not in a cell at Azkaban."

Perhaps he could arrange for something different, something that kept Harry locked up but in a better place than that. When the magical world in the United Kingdom had begun to heal from Voldemort's dark power. It would take a few years, but Albus could put in a good word for the lad, if Harry behaved. Surely he would behave, surely he would forgive Albus when he had had time to explain why he felt the young man had to be locked up.

-o-

It took three days before George Weasley came to his cell. Harry didn't move when a chair was put down in front of his cell, or when George came and sat down. They sat in complete silence for a few minutes before George said:

"Dumbledore called for a meeting yesterday."

"Oh."

"He said he had tried to take control over your vaults."

"Vaults, as in plural?" Harry said. "Wow. I didn't know that. Why?"

"Something about… I don't know, something about getting something ready."

"And?"

"Well, the goblins didn't buy that."

"No?" Harry finally looked up.

George looked like he hadn't slept at all, and if he had managed to catch a nap he had done it still dressed. Harry wasn't sure which one of them looked better at the moment.

"He tried to argue with them but goblins, ey… they just flat our refused. Mum scolded me for laughing at him."

"George, what are people saying about me?"

"That's the thing. They aren't. It's like you don't exist."

"Oh…" This time it was fainter, and Harry stared down at his shoes. "What about Hermione and Ron? Were they in on it? In on Dumbledore's little plan of saying I was evil?"

"I think it caught everyone by surprise, but they… Harry, don't think about them anymore."

"So they agreed with him? For what? Did he promise Hermione more knowledge? Did he promise Ron money? They were my friends!"

"Then they weren't very good friends, mate. But you still got me. Everyone else may have turned but not me. I won't."

"Why is he doing this?" Harry asked. "Dumbledore, why is he doing it?"

"Beats me, he won't tell. But they can't hold you here without trial."

Harry knew they could.

"They held Sirius for twelve years," he said out loud. "I'm not evil. I'm not insane, George, so why am I in here?"

"I'll get you out," George said and came closer, looking around for guards. "You hear me, Harry? You're good, so I'll get you out."

"You're nothing compared to Albus Dumbledore, George. They won't listen to you."

"Hey… watch me. I can be loud."

"You've just lost Fred," Harry said. "They'll say it's a phase."

"I don't know who you are referring to, but 'they' can say whatever they want," George said. "It's true, I just lost Fred. That means I will hold on tighter for the people I care for, and in this case, it's you."

"Molly won't be upset you're visiting an insane man? Or am I the next Dark Lord in her eyes?"

"Forget about her. I don't live under roof; I don't abide to her rules."

Harry came closer, leaning his head against the bars. George stretched out a hand and touched his hair, then strokes a thumb down his cheek.

"Have you eaten anything?"

"They come with food," Harry said. "I'm not interested."

"You have to eat, Harry. The Dementors are coming back, you need your strength."

"Oh joy… the icing on the cake."

"I'll bring chocolate next time."

"You're coming back?"

Damn, Harry hated the sound of hope in his voice but he couldn't help it. He was starved for anything nice, and George was… he wasn't lying, why would he waste his time if he didn't like Harry?

-o-

The first month came and went, the second as well and Harry wasn't free but he had learnt a few things. He learned where the cell was the warmest because the summer outside clearly never entered Azkaban. He learned how to tune out the screaming. He knew when they came with the food, it was better if he hid because the guards certainly remembered him; they had even cursed him when he was too close to the bars. They called him evil, echoing Dumbledore's words until Harry saw red.

But he never acted out. He was finally learning patience, something he had always lacked in his life. It was amazing what prison life did to a person. He even missed people he had no idea he would miss, like Snape. Snape was a mean bastard but at least he never hid behind a mask like Dumbledore had done.

Harry had also thought of killing Dumbledore, and learnt he could frighten himself with his own mind. He was certain he wasn't evil, but the fantasies of killing Dumbledore made him feel… satisfied.

He had also learnt that George truly was his friend. The redhead came every other day, bearing small gifts as food and candy, and also bits and bobs he could hide from the guards.

Lately he had begun to bring a Muggle chess set with him, and this time was no different. They set the chess up on the floor, where they both sat and began to play.

"Ron and Hermione are getting married," he informed when Harry thought over his next move.

"What, has he made her pregnant already?"

George snickered and smiled at Harry.

"Yeah, he actually did."

"Oh, gross. I don't want to hear about them having sex, _ever_."

"Then don't ask," George replied. "Anyway, I went to their little celebration dinner, and it was hell. Be glad you were here with the Dementors, they'd make better company."

"Actually, they are good company. You learn to ignore the raspy breathing after a while, and I thought they would smell bad but I think it's actually the prison itself that reeks."

"That is so scary I don't know what to say. I gotta get you out of here before you start to, I don't know, bang your head against the bars."

"That would be Rabastan Lestrange," Harry said. "I don't know why he's doing it."

"Brother's dead, sister-in-law's dead, his lord's dead… what else is there for him to do?"

"Point taken."

"Are they giving you hell for killing Voldemort?" George asked, gesturing at the other cells.

"Seeing as I'm no better than them to the rest of the world, they've given up. Do you realize I've thought up ten different ways of killing Dumbledore?"

George glanced at him, then down at the board. Harry knew George was winning but didn't mind. Playing chess should remind him of Ron but it didn't. Maybe it was because it was a Muggle set and it couldn't talk back at him.

"Only ten ways?"

"You're not… scared?"

"You want revenge, Harry. Two months and not a word. It's like he's forgotten you. Hell, everyone's trying to forget the war. Mum hasn't said Fred's name. It's like she's denying he ever existed."

"Well, he did exist," Harry said. "I'm insane, but I'm pretty sure I didn't hallucinate your brother standing by your side all those years."

"Yeah… I'm going to checkmate you again, you know."

"I'm bad at chess."

George smiled a bit.

"And it has nothing to do with the fact you're gobbling down some fine Hogsmeade chocolate?"

Harry crammed even more into his mouth and smiled so his chocolate-covered teeth showed.

"Manners!"

That didn't help but Harry shrugged and tried to save his king, a futile move and they ended up resetting the board, Harry beginning.

"Harry, stop chewing your own hair."

"I'm not."

"Could've fooled me."

Harry knew he looked like shit, his hair longer and untamed. It was filthy, like Sirius' had been the first time he saw the man, and he was also growing a beard. He didn't like it, it itched, but it wasn't like Harry was given many opportunities to get rid of it. Showers were once a week, under supervision and they weren't allowed anything sharp. If Harry trusted any of the guards, he'd ask them to shave it for him. But as he didn't, they might as well just cut his throat and call it an accident, he was left growing a bloody beard.

They didn't even touch him, the guards. The only one who touched him was George. Harry had never been hugged a lot in his life but now he was yearning for it. He wanted contact, a body against his own, warming him from the outside in.

"How are you doing with the Dementors here?"

Ever since the Dementors came back the human guards were seldom there by the cells, preferring their cosy offices far away from the creatures and the screams.

"They're fine," Harry said. "It gets a bit chilly is all. They haven't even gone near me."

"Really? That's weird; don't they live on making others miserable?"

"Maybe they're just waiting. Check."

"Oh, nice move. Did you copy one of mine?"

They played for another half-hour and George began packing the Muggle set away. The visiting hours were over soon, but before he could rise up Harry grabbed his wrist.

"Do you get searched when you leave?"

"These people don't ever search me," George said. "Why?"

"What you've brought me are acceptable losses, but in case they search me…"

His shrunken broom, the map, everything he had managed to keep away. His link to normalcy and a life he was sure to never get back; he gave them all to George.

"Harry?"

"I want them safe. They're not safe with me. But they will be with you."

"They are your things, Harry… it's your sanity I'm holding."

"Yeah, and it'll keep me sane knowing they are safe with you."

George put them away and sighed.

"I don't want Dumbledore to be suspicious that I'm trying to get you out. He's been quiet about you but I don't trust him to not stick his nose in the moment I try something."

"That would be quite unfortunate."

"Have you tried speaking up for yourself?"

"If by speaking up you mean trying to holler at the guards, then yes. I did it a few times but they aren't listening. They certainly aren't taking someone from the Ministry here to question me. Is Dumbledore running the Ministry?"

"No, actually he and the Order aren't that involved. I guess they want to show they are all for a new Ministry."

"They'll have someone there."

"Naturally," George said, "but for now the Ministry is run by witches and wizards who are not in the Order."

-o-

Harry didn't expect the visit from Dumbledore but made no movement to get closer to the bars. He preferred it in the shadow, hidden behind his bed as he stared at the man who was responsible for throwing him in prison in the first place.

Albus Dumbledore looked healthy, clad in magenta robes and a grave look on his face. Was there a lie there? Of course there was. Harry knew looking into his eyes would allow Albus entry into his thoughts so he kept them averted.

"Harry?"

He didn't reply.

"Harry, I am so sorry that you are in this position."

"You put me in this position," Harry replied, then bit down. The anger simmered just under the surface. Keep a lid on it! He knew better than to blow up. It never helped, _never_. Well, it did blow up Aunt Marge once, literally… that was fun.

"You must understand why I'm doing this. I am not doing it to torture you, Harry."

"You just planned to kill me. Or rather, have Voldemort kill me. I guess you're not used to have plans backfire on you."

"Harry, a part of Voldemort must live on inside of you. _That _is why I had to make this terrible decision."

Voldemort wasn't inside of Harry. Voldemort had killed Harry, had actually _killed _him and Harry knew he shouldn't have come back. He should have gone on one of those trains, gone to his parents and Remus and Sirius…

But he hadn't. He had left Voldemort's soul piece on that white platform and returned to life. He had made a choice to remain alive, but what a life he had now.

"Harry? Please, look at me."

He wasn't that stupid.

"I am trying to figure out a way to get Voldemort away from you, strip his influence from your poor mind. Then you'll be free."

"Voldemort's dead."

"He lives in you, in your _scar_…"

"He doesn't," Harry said but it fell on deaf ears. He tuned out Dumbledore's voice and hummed quietly to himself, scraping at the wall.

The cold air informed him the Dementors were closing in. He turned his head to see them crowding Dumbledore and his little pack of followers.

"Harry, I will come again. In the meantime, I have promised Molly to protect George from Voldemort."

No.

_No._

Harry shut his eyes, clenched his teeth until he tasted blood. They couldn't take George away. He couldn't let them see the rage that would produce so he began to dig his nails into his arms. The pain from that and his mouth was enough to distract him until Dumbledore was gone.

-o-

George didn't come by. Harry felt like he wanted to bang his head against the bars like Rabastan did. He wanted to shout and scream, demand George back because the days passed so slowly but they passed anyway and before he knew it, he hadn't seen George for nearly four months.

By that time he was sitting staring into the wall, barely responding, hating the time he had to leave his cell and be watched the guards as he showered. He was so docile they even let him shave once. He nicked himself four times, because he had never shaved before, and the sharp pain was bliss.

With no George to give him sweet and play Muggle chess Harry did nothing. He cradled the things George had smuggled to him, held them in his hands and slept with them by his side. He had been in prison for six months and he was already going mad.

Then one day he got sick. It was getting colder outside, meaning the prison was freezing. His robes were worn down and he heard the rattling of his own breath. The guards left some potions that he didn't take.

On the fifth day he was so weak he couldn't sit up. He lay on the floor and saw a Dementor come up to his cell. There it stopped, wrapping long, rotten fingers around the cool bars.

"What?" he got out. "What do you want?"

He was caught in a coughing fit after that, and by the time he calmed down the Dementor was by his side… holding one of the potions, cork unscrewed. It tilted its head as he stared up at it, and then the Dementor picked his head off the floor and tipped the potion into his mouth. Harry swallowed on reflex and felt the warmth spread through his limbs. The pain in his chest eased and he sat up more properly.

"Why?" he said, voice still scratchy but stronger than before.

The Dementor made a sound. He had never heard them making sounds before, and realized he didn't hear his mother's voice cry out. His worst nightmare wasn't present, and he was less than a foot from a Dementor.

It reached out a hand, curling it around his shoulder and pulling him closer. Harry should be afraid. But he wasn't. Instead he leaned against the gaunt chest and while the Dementor wasn't warm, he didn't get any colder. He wrapped his arms around the thin body and exhaled slowly. The Dementor's hand was now over his back, a steady pressure and he was finally touching something living after four months.

It kept making sounds though, the Dementor and Harry realized it was actually _talking _and it was talking to him.

"I don't understand," he said. "I mean, your language. But do you understand me?"

The Dementor nodded, its eyeless face and gaping mouth close to his. Harry felt none of the fear he had felt before.

"Can you Dementors leave Azkaban?"

Again, a nod.

"Will you leave Azkaban, just for a short while, to find someone for me?"

The Dementor rasped out a sound. Harry took it as a 'yes', and so he sent out a Dementor to find out how George Weasley was doing.

Why would the Dementor talk to him? Or well, try to talk to him? Harry lay on the ragged cot and tried not to think too much about it, as he already had a headache. He was still sick; one potion didn't solve all of it.

He was sleeping when he felt a nudge against his shoulder. Opening his eyes he was greeted by the sight of the Dementor from before _very _close to his face and he sat up. The Dementor moved to follow him and then held out a parchment.

It was from George.

_First of all, mate, can you tell that bloody Dementor to not wake me up by breathing into my face? I nearly had a heart attack!_

_I'm being monitored by Dumbledore's people, saying it's for my own good. Don't worry, I'm trying to get past them._

_G_

_PS. Seriously, another way to wake me up, alright? I'm gonna have bloody nightmares!_

Harry crushed the parchment against his chest and fell down on the bed again. He felt the tears escape, didn't care. George was safe, he would come back. No matter how long it took, George would come back.

-o-

When George finally came to Azkaban, Harry hadn't seen him in over eight months and he had almost been in prison for a full year.

The conditions were worse than ever and Harry hid from the guards. They had taken to curse him occasionally in the showers so he hadn't taken one in weeks. His beard was roughly shaved due to the Dementors smuggling a razor blade to him, sometimes a bowl of water so he at least could wash off his face.

"Harry?"

He looked over and saw George, fresh and healthy, kneeling on the cold ground of the prison and hands on the bars. Harry crawled over and touched one of George's hands.

"Hey," he said. He pushed back some of his filthy hair and continued, "Sorry if I reek."

"What's happened?"

"The guards like to torture the prisoners. I'm no exception."

"They can't do that!" George hissed.

"It's not like anyone listens to the prisoners anyway," Harry said. "You look good."

"You look like shit."

"Thank you."

They had exchanged notes over the months they hadn't seen each other, Dementors eager to assist Harry in any way. He wasn't surprised by it anymore, although he still didn't get why they were helping him.

"How did you convince Dumbledore to let you come here again?"

"I didn't. I just went. I'm sure they'll interrogate me once I get out of here. Dumbledore seems convinced you're a Horcrux."

"Well, I'm not. I left Voldemort's soul piece there, in death. Or limbo, I don't know. It's not in me anymore, and I did try to tell him that when he came around but… he didn't listen."

"He thinks Voldemort will take over you."

"I don't care what he thinks. I hate him. I hate him, and Ron and Hermione and their bloody fake friendship. They abandoned me, they could've fought for me… Hermione, you know how she gets when she fights for something? Even Voldemort would back off but she hasn't lifted a finger to help me, has she?"

"No… she hasn't."

"I hate her then," Harry said. "I'm going to kill them."

"Bit more quiet, please. I don't want any guards hearing you say that, it'll make it harder to get you out!"

George took Harry's head in his hands, thumbs smoothing over his filthy hair.

"Just calm down, alright? I can't imagine what it's like to be locked up in here, but calm yourself down."

"I don't know what to do, George. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too. And seriously, mate, Dementors? What the hell?"

"They like me," Harry said, almost dreamily.

One of the Dementors came closer. George moved a bit but the Dementor merely slunk inside Harry's cell and rested its' head against his shoulder.

"Is that thing… I don't know, doing its version of a purr?" George wondered.

"That or it's coughing up a lung, I don't know," Harry admitted.

"This world is weird," the redhead concluded. "I mean it. I don't like this new world."

"Is Dumbledore controlling the Ministry?"

"Oh, no, he's not. Actually, the Ministry is so far out of his control it's almost scary," he said. "I think if I make the right moves, I can get their attention about their real hero not getting a trial, and maybe it'll make Dumbledore seem insane instead. If there's proof you're no longer a Horcrux, then that means Dumbledore threw you, an innocent teenager into Azkaban and didn't look back."

"That would make him look rather bad," Harry said. "I like it. But I'm not letting him get away with it."

"I can't exactly blame you for that."

Harry used to be scared of his own mind when he thought about killing those he had called friends. Now he wasn't scared. He felt giddy thinking about it, and he thought about killing a lot. An awful lot.

"George, I mean it. If you get me out, you have to know the consequences," Harry said. "I will kill people. I don't think I can stop myself from doing that. I'll kill them for putting me in here."

George looked him in the eye, and there was no hesitation when he said:

"So kill them."

Tbc…

* * *

The start of a new journey. Possibly a very dark journey but oh well…

Chapter two: Harry is learning the language of the Dementors. George finally manages to get the Ministry's attention that Harry Potter never got a trial, and that Dumbledore has been lying about it.

Look forward to it!

Until later,

Tiro


	2. Chapter 2

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, dark!Harry and evil!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. Be warned.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Yes, new chapter! No, it's not April's fool day with no writing, it's a real chapter. Yay!

So thank you for all the reviews, I wasn't quite expecting that response but shows how wrong one can be!

Harry is still quite sane in this chapter, but sooner or later that will change…

Enjoy reading!

-o-

**Chapter Two**

A year and four months had passed since Harry was locked up without trial due to Dumbledore's belief he was still a Horcrux and Voldemort was going to take over his brain or whatever, and Harry was evolving. Into what? He didn't know yet, but he wasn't afraid of himself anymore.

A formal complaint from George to the Ministry made the conditions at Azkaban better, as half of the guards were found guilty of torturing the prisoners. They were fired from their positions and the remaining guards made the showers regular again. This time the prisoners showered alone, and were allowed a few minutes of complete privacy. Harry loved it, showers every three days with no one looking at him. He had gotten taller by several inches despite the lack of nutrient food, but that also meant he gained no weight and was so thin one of the guards had taken the habit to get him a nutrient potion every other meal. That same guard was the only one who had never done him any harm.

He had new robes too, since autumn was coming and his old ones were falling to pieces. George had to take a guess to the measurements and apparently everyone tried to talk him out of getting them for Harry in the first place. Something about 'not wasting money on criminals', to which George laughed in their faces and got two pairs of robes instead of one.

The cell door opened and Harry looked over to see a Dementor come inside. The face that once had frightened him so was now a precious sight and he set aside the tiny Muggle chess set George gave him a month ago.

The Dementors came every day, and now they were doing something else than just comforting him; they taught him their words, their speech. He also learnt what they called him.

They didn't call him Harry. George suggested 'evil, dark lord' but it wasn't that either. Not even simple Potter or child or something like that, no, they called him 'Maker'.

Harry had tried to ask why but the Dementors weren't big on explaining that and just kept on calling him 'Maker' while petting his hair or touching his face. They were fond of him, that much was clear. If someone had told Harry before he went to Azkaban that a Dementor could be cuddly, he'd note those people down as insane and stay clear off them.

Now maybe he was the insane one but he didn't mind. He liked the Dementors, and they obviously liked him if the nuzzling was anything to go by.

He let the Dementor speak, listening to the words and recognizing a few of them. It was hard to learn them, difficult to speak and impossible to write down, but he trained.

"Um mate, you two need a minute alone?"

"I'm not going to kiss a Dementor," Harry told George. "You're early."

"I can't be early now?" the redhead said. "Get over here, and tell your Dementor to not breathe down my neck again."

"Sure."

George settled down and handed over some sweets and food, still hot. Harry took the food and tore into it.

"Water too," George said. "You're like a stick, and not in a good way. You're not getting the potions anymore?"

"Someone made a fuss about it, I told him not to risk his job. Did you know that guard has four kids at home?"

"Maybe that's why he's so nice to you," George said.

"Hasn't stopped your mother from hating me."

"Alright, so she's mental and he's a good parent. I'll see if I get my hands on some nutrient potions, I know mine weren't that good in school."

"Snape yelled at you?"

"He'd given up at that point."

"How are things going with the Ministry?" Harry wondered.

"Forward," George replied. "Slowly. I didn't know, but did you know that apparently you got a trial?"

"No, I did not know," Harry said. "Did I plead guilty?"

"It was determined that you were a danger to yourself and to others, and that locking you up at St Mungo's wasn't good enough because at any moment lil' Voldemort could come crawling out of your skull or something so you were put in Azkaban until further notice."

"Wow. Did Dumbledore just bullshit all that together?"

"You have to admit, he's good."

"Or everyone else are idiots," Harry said as they set up the Muggle chess.

"At least he didn't paint you as evil."

"No, he only threw me into prison and forgot I existed. That's a lot better. I'd prefer being called evil whilst being free. These chains are bugging me."

Not only did they keep Harry from using magic, they also hurt his wrists at times. He could deal with the pain; it was the absence of magic that drove Harry crazy. He felt naked without it, knew it was still deep inside of him but whenever he tried to access it the pain worsened until it was throbbing throughout his whole body.

"I can only imagine, mate."

"My wand…"

He hadn't asked about his wand before. But it was his wand, _his _and if it was gone…

"It's on display," George said. "Next to Voldemort's. At the Ministry."

"Why?"

"Two of the most powerful wands in the whole world? They want to show off I guess."

"As long as they don't break it. What about this fake trial, you know anything else?"

"It's filled with evidence of you going dark well before you started chasing down the Horcruxes, and some nonsense how Hermione and Ron were controlling your 'darker urges'…"

"That makes me sound like a pervert doing very wrong things; did they take that from their own evenings in their bed?"

George choked on his breath and said:

"No, no, you did _not _just plant that in my head! Oh Merlin, you _did_! You're evil, so totally evil, I don't even want to think of Ron and sex at the same time!"

Harry only shrugged and grinned at him.

"Anyway," George said once he got over whatever mental images Harry's words had conjured, "there is also a whole jury who voted for you going to prison. Only they never were part of a jury, and they certainly didn't allow Dumbledore to use their names."

"And?"

"Half of them are willing to go to the Ministry," George added and grinned. "They'll raise a fuss about it, and the Ministry will realize Dumbledore's huge trial never happened. It'll still take months, mate, but it's starting to move."

"About time," Harry said. "Checkmate."

"Oi, when the hell did you get better at chess?"

"We've been playing for over a year. I'm bound to pick up a trick or two."

-o-

Albus Dumbledore was at the school, a new year had just started up when he received some visitors.

Amelia Bones, a witch who had survived a murder attempt by Voldemort himself just before the war broke out, and two Aurors. Amelia was the new Minister of Magic and so far had given Dumbledore and his Order no problems. However, she was also one who sided with Harry James Potter and so she was always a visit Dumbledore feared.

"Amelia," he said nonetheless, rising up from his seat. "How lovely to see you."

"It's Ministry business," she said.

"Oh. Well, take a seat."

"No, I won't be long."

She settled her eyes on him and Dumbledore felt a bead of sweat at his hairline.

"I was visited by five witches and wizards that had a very interesting tale for me."

"Is that so?" Dumbledore said.

"Five of your so called jury members."

_No…_

"There never was a trial for Harry James Potter," Amelia continued, merely raising an eyebrow as Dumbledore tried to speak. The elderly man fell silent. "I will personally look up every piece of evidence you gave the new Ministry from your faked trial, and then I will personally question Harry James Potter himself. He has been in prison for over a year without a single reason stating _why_."

"Minister Bones, I assure you, there are reasons…"

"You faked a trial, Albus Dumbledore, to imprison a _child _who saved our world from Voldemort," Amelia said. "You _lied _to me, and I will not forget that. Once this has all been cleared up, the Ministry will collect Harry from prison and see how his version goes."

She then left without a goodbye, leaving Dumbledore stunned and panicking.

He couldn't allow Harry out from Azkaban. Harry needed to be put under strict control, and by now he was probably weak from malnutrition and the presence of Dementors, but he still wasn't ready to be locked up in the new prison Albus was making. It would look like freedom and Harry would be too mentally weak to say against it.

But if Amelia went through with this… if she let Harry go…

No, she couldn't! Shouldn't the fact that Albus suspected that Voldemort lived inside of Harry still be enough to still her actions? Why wasn't it enough?!

Something had to be done. How had she even found out? Albus had made sure to use names of people who did not associate with the Ministry, so how did they know he had used them?

It only got worse after that visit. Over the following weeks, Amelia Bones' attack against the trial ripped it wide open and the public learnt that their good headmaster of Hogwarts had tricked them.

They demanded a real trial before their Minister could even start to pick at the faked evidence. They demanded for Harry Potter to speak for himself, and then the letters began pouring into Albus' office.

It was quite aggravating. Couldn't they see he was trying to do the right thing, protecting them from Harry and protecting Harry from himself? In Azkaban, he could do no harm with those chains suppressing his magic and no harm could be done to him. It was quite sad to hear about the guards who tortured the prisoners, and Dumbledore had supported the decision to let them go. The prisoners were no doubt evil men and women but they were locked up. There was no need to hurt an already imprisoned person.

He did admit if Severus Snape had survived he would also be in Azkaban. He would never have let Albus place the boy Potter there, he would have, Merlin forbid, _spoken _up for the lad. Severus was led astray by his love to Lily Potter and was ready to defend her son only due to that. But Severus hadn't survived, he had died a noble death and Dumbledore did honour his actions in the war. No sense in not doing it, after all Severus had given the light side a winning chance.

But no matter what, Dumbledore could not allow Harry Potter out of Azkaban just yet. He knew of no methods to remove a Horcrux from a living being without killing them and killing the last Potter was a waste. He had so much potential, Harry, or at least his genes had. Paired off with the lovely Ginny Weasley, their children would be powerful.

He had to do something.

-o-

Albus knew keeping George away from Azkaban wouldn't work again. He had tried to keep up with it, warning Molly and Arthur so they did it too but George slipped through their fingers and spent hours at that place.

He never came to any of the Order meetings, never spoke to his parents or siblings with the exception of Bill, who wasn't even in the country and therefore weak to the suggestions of Fleur, a woman who had always liked Harry. Oh, and Charlie too, but Charlie at least had no opinion of Harry as he barely knew the lad.

The death of his brother weighed on him, naturally. Perhaps he thought he did society some good by talking to Harry? Perhaps he tried to get away from his grief-stricken family, but the Weasleys were healing.

Ron was already becoming an upstanding citizen of the magical world, and he and Hermione had already started a family. People like them were the backbone to the new future Dumbledore could see slowly blooming.

Plus Hermione helped Albus in his cause to spread awareness of Harry as a Horcrux. She pointed out several traits that guided some people to be convinced Harry was Voldemort's Horcrux, never mind the fact that they hadn't seen or heard him express those traits since Voldemort's death. He hid them obviously; with Voldemort's help to try and sell he wasn't a Horcrux anymore.

Albus watched his Order now, all of them discussing how to keep Harry away from the public, for their sake and for his own. Harry was powerful, he was the one to kill Voldemort after all, but they all knew his weakness against Legilimens. He had no protection against intrusions into his mind so Voldemort could already be in there, slowly poisoning the poor lad and erasing all he once was.

The headmaster contemplated on visiting Harry again but would he dare to look Harry in the eyes if Voldemort was in there? If he caught a sniff of Dumbledore's plans for Harry's future life, a limited-freedom life, he might do something that would release Harry from Dumbledore's grasp and that was simply not acceptable.

-o-

The winter came cold and unforgiving at Azkaban and George smuggled in some thick blankets to Harry, who had gotten a chest infection and spent much of their time coughing and using the walls as support.

"Here," George said one time, "managed to get a nice potion for that nasty infection of yours. It'll help a lot, and then you need to keep yourself bundled up. Shame those Dementors of yours can't provide any heat."

Harry drank the potion and grimaced.

"Yeah, shame," he croaked.

"Why don't they have windows to these cells?"

"Because that would make us prisoners comfortable," Harry said. "Hey, would you pass one of these along to Rabastan?"

"To the man whose sister-in-law killed Sirius?" George asked.

"Yes. He's mellowed out, and I promise he won't bite."

"Are you becoming friends with Death Eaters?"

"Just him, George. A good blanket will keep his complaints to a minimum too."

George shook his head but went over to Rabastan Lestrange's cell with a blanket in his hand. The man took the offered blanket and retreated into the darkness of his own cell. A mutter, 'Thanks', was barely heard over the wind outside.

He caught a good look of Harry when he turned around. A year and a half in prison could change a person. George never realized how much until now. Molly had once said that Harry would grow up to look just like James.

But he hadn't. George had seen pictures of James Potter and Harry looked nothing like his father. The hair was long and sleek, his face almost gaunt and his stature tall and thin. Only the glasses reminded George of who he was looking at, and the faint scar on Harry's forehead.

"What?" Harry said.

"Nothing, I'm just looking forward to the day I can get you out and have you eat a decent meal."

"Yeah, you and me both. How it's going for the Minister? It's Amelia Bones, right? I like her."

"She's combing through the fake trial and taking it all apart. She's doing it to have a rock solid case that Dumbledore is a filthy liar no matter what his reasons were."

"Good."

"Did you even know why he threw you in here?"

"Because he thinks Voldemort's in me."

"That's it? That's the sole reason why you are here?"

"Does he need anything else?" Harry said. "You've told me what Hermione said about me. All those signs that I was a Horcrux. Well, I can't talk to snakes now. I can't see Voldemort's mind because Voldemort is _dead_. I know it because I _died _and I came back to life while leaving his soul piece behind."

"Why didn't Dumbledore have you say that while under the influence of Veritaserum?"

"Because he has plans and no one interferes with his plans. I was part of his plans since I was a baby, he's never going to let go of me."

"Someone needs to tell him how to let go of things," George muttered.

-o-

It was hard to avoid his own mother when she came to the shop. George could have faked something, an emergency that meant no Molly bloody Weasley could follow him but figured it would be easier just to talk to her for a few minutes before having her escorted out if she made a scene.

Molly Weasley was really good at making scenes. Or screaming. She was good at screaming too. He'd know, she'd screamed a lot at him and Fred when they grew up. If someone made screaming into an art, she'd win first price without even trying. Impressive lungs, he'd give her that.

"George, dear?" she began. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, mum," he said, weaving through customers. It was still this crowded with students at Hogwarts? Well, it was nearing the holidays, and some of them looked too old or too young to go to Hogwarts.

"Anyone new in your life?" she continued.

"No, mum, I haven't met anyone. Busy with the shop and all."

He had even hired two assistants who helped out and kept the shop up and running when he visited Harry. He had made sure to get two people who didn't mind that, and who believed George when he said Harry wasn't insane.

"George, was it you who alerted the Minister about the trial?" Molly wondered.

"Mum, Harry deserves a trial. He hasn't done anything wrong."

"Haven't you listened to anything Albus said? You-Know-Who is…" Here she pulled him closer and whispered, rather over-dramatic in his eyes, "He is _inside _of Harry."

"I think Harry knows that better than Albus Dumbledore."

"George! Don't use that tone, Albus is a kind man who only wants what's best for everyone."

"Wants what's best? Mum, the boy you used to go to all lengths to protect is _locked _up in a tiny, cold cell surrounded by Dementors. He's locked up and he keeps getting sick and he's underweight. Albus Dumbledore doesn't want his best. Albus Dumbledore is _killing _Harry. Now let me go before I have you thrown out."

"You-Know-Who is using you, he's taken over Harry and he's using you to get away!" Molly hissed, trailing close behind. "He's manipulating you, isn't he? Using evil, magic tricks!"

"Magic tricks? Mum, Harry can't use magic. None of the prisoners can, and frankly, that was a lame attempt on trying to get me back to your side. Leave the shop, or I'll call the Aurors on you."

George walked away and missed Molly's calculating look.

She knew if Albus said Harry had been erased by Voldemort, then he had. The sweet boy she loved and cared for was gone, his face taken over by a monster who was now trying to hurt her precious son.

Oh, she wouldn't let that happen. If she had to, Molly would take care of Voldemort himself…

Tbc…

* * *

Uh-uh, this doesn't bode too well for Harry does it?

Chapter three: Harry meets Molly Weasley, and boy has she a surprise in store for him. The consequences of this alert Amelia Bones.

Look forward to it!

Until later,

Tiro


	3. Chapter 3

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Thank you all for the reviews! Sorry if it's a bit late, a lot of other things have been going on.

Enjoy this chapter.

-o-

**Chapter Three**

Summer never reached inside the prison, and Harry could only stare out at the sea to see the sun. If he stretched out an arm he might get the sun's warmth on his hand for maybe a few minutes a day. He was starting to look rather pale.

One day he was looking outside when he heard someone stop at his cell. He only got one regular visitor and George came in the afternoon, not this early so Harry turned around. He expected perhaps Albus Dumbledore, having his grandfatherly look that Harry had not trusted since the day Dumbledore threw him into Azkaban.

But it wasn't Albus. It was Molly Weasley, holding a package. Harry wondered for a moment if he was hallucinating. Why on Earth would she come to the prison, when George had told him she was against George visiting?

"Mrs Weasley?" he said softly and stepped down from the bed he had hauled over to the window.

There it was, just the slightest flinch and she wasn't looking into his eyes. She was nervous, perhaps even terrified. Of what? Him? Nineteen-year old Harry Potter with no magic, tall and gaunt? Well, he would turn twenty soon. That was something he never expected when he was younger, to celebrate his birthdays in Azkaban.

"Hello, Harry," she said eventually. "I'm guessing you never expected me?"

"No. I didn't. Is there something wrong with George?"

"Oh no, nothing's wrong with him, dear. George's just fine, don't you worry."

"Then why are you here, Mrs Weasley?"

"I just wanted you to know… oh, how we have been led astray by Albus. I really thought he wanted what was best for you."

Something was wrong but Harry couldn't place it. She was still nervous, wouldn't look into his eyes but her words… why was she saying that?

"I guess George was right all along. The Ministry is working to get you out, dear, but I thought… well, this is a bit of a peace-offering from me and Arthur. I know it won't make up for all these years but it's a start, isn't it?"

She set the package down on the floor in front of his cell. Harry didn't move, didn't know what to think of her actions.

"I better be off then. The Minister is questioning us all, preparing for a new trial. Better late than never, right?"

"Yes. Better late than never."

He watched her leave and waited for a bit before taking the package. He unwrapped it and found some Hogsmeade chocolate and a knitted scarf. Her knitting he supposed. He took one of the sweets and unwrapped it before popping it into his mouth.

The moment he bit down a bitter taste filled his mouth and he spit it out. Too late. Something foul spread through his mouth and down his throat. He backed away, to the bed but collapsed before that.

"Oi, Potter? You alright?"

Rabastan's voice, but Harry couldn't answer. His mouth and throat was burning.

Molly freaking Weasley had just poisoned him, and he didn't know whether to feel shock or rage at that. One thing was for certain though; Harry was the great bit idiot who just assume she wouldn't do something like that! She wouldn't look him in the eyes, why, why, _why_?!

…

Albus Dumbledore hadn't looked him in the eyes in fifth year, fearing Voldemort would look back at him. Did she honestly think…? Did _Albus _honestly think…?

Harry gagged but could barely breathe anymore.

They thought he was Voldemort. Molly Weasley never intended to poison him, Harry Potter but Voldemort. She must think… or rather, someone let her think that Voldemort had taken over, must be… Albus said so himself, he thought Voldemort was still inside of Harry. Waiting to take command perhaps. Why couldn't they just ask Harry, see into him that Voldemort was dead for real?!

That didn't make Harry any less angry. He began to shake as froth came out of his mouth. Rabastan was shouting now but no guards came. Only the Dementors. They howled as they came into his cell. Harry felt his body be picked up and the cold set in.

The pain dug into his gut and stayed there, like a rusty knife slowly being turned around in an already infested wound. He couldn't even scream and gradually the world grew dark around him.

-o-

Then he woke up to shivers and a bad taste in his mouth. He coughed as he sat up, blinking slowly.

"Oi, Potter, you alive?!"

Harry got up and then fell down, crawled over to the bars of the cell and propped himself up against them. Rabastan sagged against his own and said:

"Blimey, you scared the life out of me!"

"Wha…?"

"These guards ain't any good," Rabastan growled out. "I've been trying to tell them something was wrong for the last three days but they didn't even go into your cell!"

"Three days?"

"Yeah."

"Haven't George… been by?"

"No, that's the thing. No visitors, nothing."

Harry clawed at his throat and coughed up some blood mixed with phlegm.

"No one said… what's going on?"

"Nothing, not a single bloody word. You alright?"

"I'm not dead, am I?"

"That woman is some scary lady," Rabastan said.

"Yeah, I keep forgetting she killed Bellatrix in cold blood… it's those rosy cheeks, I swear, and that sweet voice… she could fool anyone…"

"But you're alright now?" Rabastan demanded to know.

Was he alright? Apparently so.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry replied. "No one said why there are no visitors?"

"We're all killers in here, according to them. They don't tell us _shit_, Potter."

_Great_.

-o-

Harry James Potter's re-trial was put on ice as the Ministry was shook by a dark rebellion. Amelia Bones refused the help of the Order, which made Albus Dumbledore furious. Didn't she know he had good people, people who could help her?

During these hectic times Molly came to Albus and told him what she had done.

"It's not Harry anymore, I'm sure of it!" Molly said.

"Molly, I've been trying to get Harry to a secure location…"

"It's not Harry! I saw it, with my own eyes! You want to think it's Harry in that cell, but his eyes… they aren't red but I know it's You-Know-Who in there. Harry's gone, Albus, I could _feel _it standing there and seeing him."

"Are you sure, Molly?"

"Yes!" Molly replied. "I didn't need you to tell me that. Harry's not there anymore, my sweet Harry is gone, Albus. I didn't look into You-Know-Who's eyes, I didn't let him know I knew what was going on."

"But poison, Molly?"

"I did the right thing," she said. "Only he didn't die."

"What?"

"There have been no reports of Aurors bringing out a dead body from Azkaban, or even a record that someone has died. Albus, You-Know-Who could survive that poison but Harry couldn't."

Albus sat in his chair to think it all over. Molly had done this without his permission, but she had done it for the love of her son George, who had already lost his twin brother to that dark war. The rebellion put a stop to all visitors at Azkaban, and not a moment too soon.

He had finished the house that would be Harry's safe-haven but if Harry was truly gone… then there was no point. No point in that house, no point in making him fall in love with Ginny and have him think he'd have a life.

"I didn't try to kill Harry, Albus," Molly said and sat down opposite of him. "I would never even consider it. He was such a sweet boy, Albus. I couldn't stand the thought of You-Know-Who using his body, manipulating all of us… manipulating my George."

"I will look into it, Molly. Azkaban is known to sometimes bury their dead without telling anyone."

"I'm sure of it. I didn't kill Harry; I tried to kill You-Know-Who."

Albus had a hard time getting anything out of the Minister. She was busy protecting people against raids that left villages burning. She captured dark wizards and witches who still believed in Voldemort, and gave permission to kill them instead of locking them up.

But finally he got what he needed; Harry James Potter was confirmed still alive and as healthy as he could be in Azkaban. The poison Molly had put in those sweets would kill a fully grown wizard, not to mention an underweight young man.

Then she was right. If he had consumed the sweets, even just one bit, and still lived, then it possibly couldn't be Harry inside.

Was Harry dead? Had Voldemort taken him over? Albus scarcely dared to believe it. But if Voldemort had taken over the body, then they stood a fighting chance. Harry's body must be weak now, and he had no access to magic, even if he were to be given his wand back.

The rebels would be stopped, at any means, and then Albus would investigate to see if Harry James Potter truly had died, the Dark Lord now in control of the body.

-o-

Harry had no idea how he recovered from whatever Molly Weasley had put in those chocolate pieces, but they were gone when his head had cleared and his body stopped shaking like crazy.

The guards hardly came by the cells anymore and the Dementors were stationed outside to keep rebels away. Rabastan and Harry weren't the only ones who could care less about it. Harry just wanted George back, or hear anything about the re-trial. Not that he expected it to be soon considering what the Ministry had to deal with at the moment.

Back to the boring, long days of just sitting there. He played chess against himself, climbed up to see the outside world from a window with thick bars on it, eat just enough to not starve himself and gag at the filthy water they were given to drink. The Dementors snuck him a cup of clean water whenever they could.

Summer passed and autumn arrived, a cold one that made Azkaban practically freeze up. Harry had his blankets and spent most of the time wrapped up in them, counting days and then forgetting them. He was getting sick again, and now there probably wouldn't be any potions to help him.

He managed to teach one Dementor how to play chess. That same Dementor kept coming back every day and spent hours in his cell, curling up on the other side of the cot as they played Muggle chess, Harry normally winning because the Dementor didn't want to defeat him.

"Honestly, you can try harder. I won't get angry if you win," he tried to argue one day between coughs.

The Dementor seemed more distressed about the coughs and kept waving its hands around. Then it screeched and another Dementor came. Harry heard some of the words, something about a potion and he looked from one Dementor to the other.

"What are you two doing?" he asked.

"Potter, tell your damn Dementors to keep it quiet!"

"They're not mine, Rabastan, shut up."

"They might as well be," Rabastan groaned from his cell. "Just… make them stop with that screeching."

"Alright, fine! You two, stop being so loud."

They quieted down and one of them floated away. The other returned and petted Harry's hair.

The darkness came quickly and the corridor was ill lit but Harry saw the Dementor from before return with a potion in its hands, along with a note.

"You went to George?" he rasped.

The note said little, only that George was fine and _if you get an infection and die as a result I'll bloody resurrect you to kill you myself, you idiot. Stay in your blankets and keep warm. The Dementors will come for new potions, and I'll keep myself updated about your trial._

_\- G_

Harry grinned and downed the potion. Alright, so he was wrong about not getting any potions. He had forgotten his most loyal friends, and how far they would go to keep him healthy and safe. If he asked them, the Dementors would probably break him out of Azkaban but Harry didn't fancy being a wanted criminal. Albus would take that chance, surely, to paint Harry as dangerous if he escaped.

No, he would sit bundled up and wait for his trial. Wait for his freedom.

Tbc…

* * *

Again, short chapter, I know.

Chapter four: The trial, and Albus' conclusion to his Order; who is it inside of Harry Potter's body?

Until later,

See ya,

Tiro


	4. Chapter 4

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Hey guys, pardon for the wait. Have been busy with school, and I had to chase the inspiration because it tried to run away from me.

Enjoy the chapter!

-o-

**Chapter Four**

The winter had been harsh and cold, like always but one spring morning, mid-April or so, Harry was woken up by the guards. He sat up and looked at them.

"Up we go, Potter," one of them said. "Your trial is today."

"Lovely," he said, like he didn't already know this due to George's notes over the winter. George had made sure to snoop around the Ministry so Harry got to know when it was due to happen. "What about my things?"

"Depending on the outcome of the trial, they'll be packed up by the Dementors should you be released. If you're found guilty, you'll just return here."

"I see. Well, shall we go then?"

He wondered if they would let him shower, or do something about his robes. He didn't have anything else to wear and they were… well, dirty was an understatement. Since he wore the chains that prevented his magic from coming out he stepped out of the cell without any wands pointed at him. He wasn't strong enough to fight them off, and today he had no reason to fight them.

"Trial, Potter?" Rabastan said.

"Yes."

"Good. Get yourself out of here and don't bloody come back."

"Ah, I didn't know you cared so much for me."

"No, it's just it'll be a lot more peaceful without you around."

Rabastan grinned. The guards sneered but Harry only smiled at that. To his relief he was allowed to shower briefly and one of the guards cast a few cleaning charms on his threadbare robes. After that, he stepped out of Azkaban for the first time in nearly three years.

The weather was dreadful around the island, waves crashing onto the shore but he enjoyed it nonetheless. He even liked walking through the Ministry for he saw normal people. Sure, they all stared at him but it was nice they took a more scenic route than simply Flooing inside. In the end he was led into a similar room he had been in for his hearing before fifth year; might as well have been a lifetime ago.

Amelia Bones was there. The Order was there, and judges. Well away from the Order sat George, and he smiled at Harry as the young man was led to a chair in the middle of the room. He was chained to it and two Dementors were brought in as guards. Their coldness seeped into the room, but it was a chilly feeling Harry now enjoyed. He noted with some satisfaction that no one else shared that pleasure, as they shied away from the Dementors or shuddered at the cold.

He glanced over at the Order, wondering what they were doing there. To see he wasn't released? That was a theory he could work with, considering it was Dumbledore who had left him in Azkaban.

But if he hadn't been dropped off there, locked up like a monster, what would he be doing today? Harry wasn't sure. A life after Voldemort had seemed too unlikely, almost a gift. He imagined he would've gone along with things and hooked up with Ginny. He had liked her, at one point. Maybe they would be married, even have a kid like Ron and Hermione.

Would he have liked it? Enjoyed it even? Comparing what he had today, and what he could have had without Azkaban, Harry wasn't sure what he would have chosen.

One of the Dementors brushed against his hand. He hid his smile, and he saw the other fidget. It was jealous perhaps, that the other got to touch him. Their maker. He was their maker, how he was that he didn't understand and now he didn't care.

He would miss this, if it ever was to disappear.

Harry realized he didn't mind having lost three years of his freedom, if this was what he gained. Dementors, even friends with Rabastan Lestrange! Learning hate, learning to live with it, learning what truly mattered to him; if he was released today, Harry wouldn't jump at the chance of becoming an Auror.

If anything, he'd run the opposite direction and become a hermit for the rest of his life. He was sick of appearing in newspapers, and he reckoned George was sick with it too. He only had George as a friend but that didn't matter; he could deal with only having one friend.

He had an army of Dementors to fill up the rest.

"Harry James Potter," Amelia said, "first of all I'd like to apologize on the Ministry's behalf. For three years you have been in Azkaban without a proper trial and for that there is no excuse."

"On the contrary, Minister, you work very fast; my godfather was locked up for twelve years and in the end he had to escape himself," Harry said. "Three years are not that bad in comparison."

"Yes, your godfather. His name has been cleared, and Sirius Black may no longer be alive but he is now considered an innocent man. This trial is not in reality a trial."

"It's not, Minister?" he asked.

"All but a formality," she said and there were gasps from the Order's side while the judges nodded their heads, smiling at Harry. "There is no proof for anything you have been accused off but I would like to ask a few questions while you are under the influence of Veritaserum."

Harry only shrugged and was administrated the dose. He wondered for a moment if she was going to ask if he would like to murder someone, because the answer would be a clear yes.

He would like to murder a lot of people really. On the top of his list right now was Molly for poisoning him but she was battling with Dumbledore because he was the idiot who locked Harry up. Even though if had some positive effects, he wasn't going to let Dumbledore get off easy. If the man hadn't meddled from the start, Harry's life wouldn't have been such a hell.

Bones began:

"Is your name Harry James Potter?"

"… Yes."

He wondered why he had paused, as if to struggle before the name came flowing out.

"Do you or do you not have the ability to speak Parseltongue?"

Oh, did the questions have anything to do with what he was accused off in the fake trial?

"I… do not."

Shuffling and murmurs brooding amongst the Order, and Harry wanted to release a silly grin. Instead he bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood.

"Have you ever killed any other person with the exception of Lord Voldemort?"

"Technically, he killed himself, Minister, I merely assisted. But no, I have not."

Honestly, he hadn't killed Voldemort. Never fired off an Avada Kedavra. He just destroyed some Horcruxes and watched the man doom himself. He had warned Voldemort but Voldemort never struck him as the type to actually regret to the point he would become even remotely sane again. Maybe if a miracle had appeared out of nowhere and kicked that Dark Lord in the arse, but… well, what's done is done.

"Have you ever committed an act of violence against a person other than Voldemort?"

"Yes, Minister."

"Who?" she asked, a frown on her face.

"Bellatrix Lestrange, right after she murdered my godfather. I was a tad upset. Then Draco Malfoy in sixth year, for which I have no excuse. It was incredibly foolish of me, and I'm glad he lived to continue to hate me, Minister."

Life would be so boring without a Malfoy, Harry reckoned. Plus Draco had saved his life, and Narcissa too. She was one badass woman, lying to Voldemort himself without even twitching. Harry knew her husband couldn't have done it.

Amelia Bones tapped her fingers against some parchments.

"Last question, Harry, as I'm quite satisfied in knowing you'll be a free man today; has anyone committed an act of violence towards you after you were thrown into Azkaban? Except for the guards that were found guilty of torturing the prisoners."

"Yes, I was poisoned by Molly Weasley."

Oops. Not killing Molly then. Oh well, maybe someone else would take care of her for him.

Amelia's sharp eyes found Molly Weasley who stood up and screamed:

"Liar!"

"Oh no, Umbridge taught me in fifth year I must not tell lies. Toad."

George snorted at that last word and Harry felt his head roll. Dear god he was tired.

"Guards, take Molly Weasley into custody and see if there's truth to the story. Harry is still under Veritaserum influence, he can't lie about it."

He felt a bit floaty now. Was floaty a word? To float, floating… floaty?

"Harry, are you feeling alright?"

"Fine," he got out. "Just… tired. Yes, tired. That prison is dreadfully chilly and interrupts one's sleep."

Maybe you should take Veritaserum on a full stomach. Or at least, on a fuller one than his.

He heard Amelia Bones pass her sentence on him:

"I hereby find Harry James Potter free of all charges. He is to be released immediately."

Screams. The chains unlocking. People arguing and then he was helped up. The Order was steered outside, still arguing and shouting at Amelia Bones who came to a stop before Harry. The judges filed out too, clapping him on the shoulder, congratulating him for his newfound freedom. Harry focused on Amelia. He expected her to say it was a joke and that the chains would snap around his wrists again.

"An official pardon from the Ministry will come later this week," she told him, "but for now, I hope you accept my apologies."

Oh, she wasn't joking. He was free? Harry roused enough to answer:

"It's not your fault, Minister. You didn't know."

"I should have known. It is my job to know. Now, I do believe these belong to you."

Wands. As in plural. Harry looked down at them both. One was his own, beloved holly wand but the other…

"Why Voldemort's?" he asked softly.

"Because when we only took your wand, his shrieked," she said. "It was quite the spectacle."

"Isn't that seen as a sign that I'm the next evil Dark Lord?" he wondered.

"The wand does not define its master," she stated. "His wand has clearly chosen you as its new master. You defeated him."

Harry took both wands in his hands and magic flared to life inside of him. But unlike before, there were no chains to stop it from flowing out. He held one wand in each hand and let the magic go.

Sparks flew out of them both and he laughed at the feeling of magic warming him up from the inside out. He thought he felt bones creak as the magic rushed to come back to him and Amelia said:

"That's the spirit, get it back. Almost three years has it lain dormant; I suggest you get it out of your system as soon as possible."

"Believe me, Minister," George's voice came, "I'll make sure of that."

"Thank you, Mr Weasley," she said. "Now, Harry, don't hesitate to write me if you have any troubles. Any troubles at all."

"Yes, thank you Minister."

"It was my pleasure. And thank you Mr Weasley for aiding me in helping Mr Potter out of Azkaban."

"Don't you worry, Minister, I wanted it just as badly as you. Come here, Harry."

The hug was the first full-body human contact Harry had had in three years and he nearly dropped the wands in his need to return it. He didn't want to let go.

"It's alright, Harry," George whispered. "You don't have to."

-o-

Three hours later he was finally sitting down again. George had not been kind. He had been relentless. Harry had been to a hairdresser, bought new clothes, getting checked out at St Mungo's, and had to follow George as he bought food home.

To their home.

Harry was sitting on a bed, in a room that was his own. He had noticed the Invisibility Cloak hanging in the wardrobe, his broom propped up next to it. Tucked in his nightstand was the Marauder's Map, and all his possessions were loaded up in a trunk. The personal items from his cell were in a package that George collected personally just a half-hour ago.

He was running a bath now, a bathroom connected to Harry's room. Harry just sat there and breathed, the two wands in his lap. He stroke Voldemort's bone white wand and felt the magic sing. His magic responded to both wands equally strong. He wondered if Dumbledore knew that.

"Harry?"

"Yeah," he said, looking up.

George looked happier.

"Blimey, I hadn't noticed how thin you are until now. You're a twig!"

"Thank you, George. That was very kind."

"You know me, I give the best compliments. Rabastan sends his love. Does he fancy you or what?"

"I don't know, but at least I was capable of speech, not just gargled screams."

"Right. Charming bunch you left him with. Now, up you get."

Harry looked out of the bedroom instead. The house was big, enough that he had his own sitting room and George had his own space complete with a potions lab and experimentation room. When asked, George stated he had worked on the house for the last few months, intending it to be a surprise when Harry was released.

"Harry, daydream later! Bath, now."

He was pulled up from the bed and thrust into the bathroom where a steaming bath awaited. He sank down into it after throwing his robes to the floor and sighed as the warmth surrounded him. A bath… how long since he had taken a real bath, not just a shower? Fourth year maybe, when he was listening to the egg. It had been a big bath, but he hadn't enjoyed it as much as he enjoyed this one. Harry pinched himself, just to be sure. If this was a dream, he wished he'd die without ever waking up from it.

But it wasn't a dream. He had asked George five times and he was getting bruises from the pinches George had given him. So this was real. The water was real. The bath, and his bedroom, and the whole house… all real. No more days spent in that cold cell, lying on a mattress that saw better days before he was even born and thinking of the few good things he had to think about. Much had been spoiled by the fact his friends, all but one had betrayed him.

For a moment Harry allowed himself to think about Ron and Hermione. They had been good, up until the moment he was thrown into Azkaban. He hadn't heard from them since. All he knew what was George had told him and it wasn't much. Harry didn't want to hear anymore. His hands itched to close around their throats, have them feel just as betrayed as he was…

Harry sighed. He hardly had any muscles. He couldn't kill anything right now. His magic was free, but he wasn't fine. He looked at his hands, stroke up his arms. Skin and bones, that was all. He had to heal first, recover from the years in prison.

That didn't mean he would forgive anyone. He still wanted to kill. He yearned for it. The thought of all of his friends, all those who had helped him, now had a comfortable life not caring one bit about the crazy Harry Potter… it made his blood boil.

"You won't get away with it," he promised. "Never."

"Stop talking to yourself and wash up!" George yelled through the door.

"How can I resist talking to such a beautiful person?" Harry yelled back. "Have you seen me lately?"

"Yeah, tall and skinny with a murderous look in his eyes. Real handsome there. Wash up!"

"You just can't appreciate beauty."

"Oh god, what did they do to you in there? How can you say such embarrassing things?"

Harry grinned at the closed door and then dunked his head under water. He washed himself thoroughly and then got dressed with clothes George had bought. They were loose on him but still, they were whole and warm.

George stood up as he came out.

"There, looking better. Dinner though; you're hungry?"

"Not really but I should eat."

"Good. I'll go and make sure it'd done, just rest for a bit."

George couldn't resist hugging him again and Harry hugged him back.

"Be warned, I'll be doing that a lot," George told him.

"You have a shop to take care off."

"Personal time, I have people who work there so it's fine. Don't think you can get rid of me that easily."

George ran out after that, yelling about dinner to what Harry assumed were house-elves while he himself sat down on the bed. It didn't take long though for him to feel he was being watched… well, not watched exactly but still…

Harry turned his head and outside one of the windows was a Dementor, hands on the windowsill and chin resting between them.

"Eh?"

Then he ran up and threw the window open. There was even more outside.

"What are you doing?" he hissed. "You can't just leave Azkaban!"

They spoke to him, squabbling amongst one another to be the one to tell him and Harry was getting a headache.

"One at the time!" he said. "They haven't noticed you're gone?"

In tandem they shook their heads.

"That's good, but… you can't leave Azkaban."

Whines. Oh god, they had learned how to _whine_, and he knew if they had eyes he would be given a Dementor's version of a wounded puppy-look. Harry cleared his throat and said:

"No. You can't leave that place just yet."

They perked up at 'yet'.

"So go back now," Harry said. "You can visit me but please be discreet, and don't scare George half to death, alright?"

"Harry, are you talking to yourself again?"

George opened the door and yelped when a Dementor's face was the first thing he saw.

"Yeah, they came to say hi," Harry said.

"Harry! Warn me when they're here!"

-o-

The silence was grave around the table. At the head of it sat Albus Dumbledore with closed eyes and bent head. Ron was going on about his mother's arrest, and how it was ridiculous that she even had been arrested!

"And George, that bastard, he didn't even try to defend her!"

Molly Weasley was to be held until her trial, but everyone in the Ministry already knew she was guilty. Lucius Malfoy, slippery snake as he was made sure he walked away free from the whole ordeal with Voldemort, had even smiled at that.

"She'd never do anything like that!"

Oh, she had and she had confessed to Albus too, giving him many things to think about. It had all led up to today's events. Amelia Bones had the nerve to release Harry without even consulting Albus first. All of his efforts, gone to waste! But he knew now. Oh yes, he was certain of it. He had tried to read Harry's mind, slip it into it when he entered the room but was blocked.

Occlumency shields, it had to be! Harry was useless at Occlumency, too much clouding his mind so that was not his work. Albus knew then that Molly's fears were right.

"I'm afraid that is not all," Albus spoke. "Poor Molly, we'll do everything in our power to have her released but she did give Harry poison."

The Order stilled and stared at him. Albus looked up and saw them all in the eye.

"_But_, not to our Harry," he said. "She would never harm Harry. She was right. Our dear Molly was right. Harry is gone."

"What are you saying?" Hermione said.

"She said it was Voldemort in there, and after the trial I am certain. Voldemort survived, and has taken over Harry's body."

Gasps and moans. Hermione covered her face with her hands, Ron went to comfort her.

"How do you know?" he said.

"During the trial he had Occlumency shields that Harry could never be capable of rising by himself, and his hesitation when answering the questions was strange. I believe strongly that it is Voldemort that has possessed Harry's body, that Harry is lost to us now."

"So what do we do now?" Ron asked as the others mourned Harry's passing.

"Oh, we bide our time, and when the time is right… we will finish Harry's noble work."

-o-

Harry shuddered and George looked up at him.

"What?"

"I just got the feeling of something… creepy," Harry said. "Must be Dumbledore. I have no doubt that they're sitting gathered something and pissing their pants, thinking up some new plan to imprison me."

"I hear someone has become paranoid."

"Constant vigilance."

"Aah, Moody… shame he died. I think he would've tried to help you."

"Because he's mental, and I'm considered mental?"

"Well, I'm mental too," George said. "We all are. Some just hide it better."

Harry sank into the armchair, holding a cup of tea in his hands. The warmth was comforting despite spring coming, slowly passing over to summer. The chill of Azkaban wouldn't leave him so quickly.

"They can plan all they want," he said. "I'll be ready this time."

Tbc…

* * *

Will he really?

Chapter five: Harry recovers, and Albus tries to win back his loyalty. But Harry is no longer an abused, helpless child, and he has every Dementor in existence under his control…

Until later,

See ya,

Tiro


	5. Chapter 5

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Oh my, I'm truly late with this chapter aren't I? My apology for that; I've been rather into my original works these last few weeks.

Read and enjoy!

-o-

**Chapter Five**

George had been staring at Harry's hair for the last ten minutes and finally Harry looked up from the book he was reading.

"What?"

"You don't want a haircut?"

"No," Harry said, dragging a hand through his locks that now reached past his shoulders. "It's easier to manage when it's longer."

"So it doesn't look like a rat's nest?"

"Yeah, that's one way of describing my hair," Harry replied with a laugh. "Did I ever tell you that my aunt once shaved me, with the exception of one lock that covered my scar?"

"No way!"

"Oh yes way. It looked horrible and I was really upset. It grew back overnight."

George laughed.

"What look did she have on her face then?"

"Uncle Vernon I remember had a purple face. But then again, he always had a purple face. Aunt Petunia was angry, I know that but what could she do?"

"I'm trying to imagine it," George said. "Little you with no hair. Oh dear god, it's hilarious!"

It actually was. Harry wasn't sure what aunt Petunia had been thinking, that would look better than his usual rat's nest. Actually, that might even have made teachers worried and have them call and annoy her, so perhaps it was a good thing he grew it out accidently. It saved him a lot of grief that would have come if aunt Petunia's precious time was wasted by teachers who were worried about Harry.

"You look good with longer hair," George said. "That, or it could just be that your hair is the only thing on you that isn't a walking skeleton."

"Hey, I resent that. I have been gaining weight."

It had been three weeks since he was set free. Three weeks of pure bliss. He hadn't ventured outside of the wards, hadn't left the house much either but he could bath whenever he wanted, eat whatever he wanted. He had clean robes, casual clothes, books and nothing to worry about.

Well, he supposed the Order was planning something but they weren't there. They hadn't tried to contact George, or harass either of them. He was ready to let them be too. He needed to get his strength back up before he faced anyone of them again. That, and Occlumency shields to protect himself from Dumbledore.

But… it felt like he had protection. Was it because he wasn't as reckless as he used to be? Sure, he was angry and hateful but Harry had learnt patience and caution. One had little else to do in a small cell, in a freaky prison, in the middle of the sea. He wouldn't fall for Dumbledore's lies any longer, and certainly wouldn't let the man inside his head.

-o-

George spent a lot of time making potions. Experimental potions, which meant sometimes they had to run when a cauldron exploded. Professor Snape was surely weeping somewhere at the idiocy of the new generation. Either that, or yelling proper instructions.

Either way, Harry had a tendency to sit with George, unwilling to be left alone for long periods of times. He had dragged a comfortable chair with him too.

"Do you know what the magical society is good at?" Harry asked George one day, roughly a month and a half since his release.

"Being idiots?" George replied as he carefully poured some liquid into the cauldron before him. He seemed relieved when it didn't blow back up in his face.

"Assigning blame onto others," was what Harry said. "They choose a scapegoat, even if said scapegoat doesn't want to be that, and push away all the guilt from them so they are seen as if the sun comes shining out of their arse."

"Harry, I've told you before and I'm telling you again, a good wind will knock you over still. Until I'm certain I need more than a twig to defeat you, you're not killing anyone who used you as their scapegoat."

"I've been thinking."

"That sounds dangerous."

"About Ron and Hermione, and their kid."

"She's pregnant again, so there'll soon be two kids."

"I wanna kill them."

"Ron and Hermione?" George said.

"No, the kids," Harry said, tilting his head to the side. "That's disturbing isn't it?"

"Believe me, I've thought more than once about killing their kid," George said. "He's loud. I mean, really loud."

"Oh. I wanna pick them apart piece by piece…"

"Alright, now you're entering the disturbing-department. Clear you head and help me with this potion instead."

"Um, you know me and potions. We do not get along."

"You're not under professor Snape's crooked nose anymore. I'm sure you can manage."

"Will it blow up on us?" Harry asked as he approached George.

"With a bit of luck, no. Do you think professor Snape is rotating in his grave right now, seeing as I use what I learnt from him to make prank potions?"

"Rotating? He's ready to come back to life just to call us dunderheads before dropping dead again," Harry said. "That would be fun. I'd get to apologize to him for being a prick."

"He was the prick."

"We both were pricks. Do you reckon Dumbledore fooled him too?"

"Sure, why not? Here, hold this. I mean, Dumbledore tricked a lot of people, why not professor Snape?"

There were a lot of things Harry didn't know about Dumbledore, or Snape. He knew Snape wasn't a good person. He enjoyed making people suffer, he enjoyed humiliating his students. He was brilliant at potions, but he shouldn't have been a professor at a school like Hogwarts. The students he should have had were those who truly wanted to learn, Harry reckoned. Not just ordinary students.

Snape wasn't a good person, but he did have something that made Harry unable to truly hate him. He pitied the man more than hated him. So many things had gone wrong in Snape's life, he had made so many bad decisions for himself… from what Harry knew, Snape didn't have a single friend after he fell out with Harry's mother.

"Harry?"

"Sorry. I just… professor Snape was a prick, but I don't hate him," Harry said.

"You don't? That's fine I guess," George said. "Just be prepared he'd rather choke to death than admit that he doesn't hate you too. Because he didn't. He wouldn't have protected you up until the very end if he hated you."

"Yeah, I know. I know if I apologized to him now, he'd sneer and call me a moron," Harry said. "I'd let him. I might sick a Dementor after him, if I was able to, just to see the look on his face."

"Sheer terror… mm, lovely," George said dreamily. "Thank you for that image; I shall treasure it forever. Come on, let's make a prank potion. We just might make professor Snape resurrect himself just so he can come beat the crap out of us for this."

-o-

Dumbledore felt uneasy. Since the day of the trial he hadn't seen Harry, or rather _Voldemort_, at all, for there was no way to convince him it was any other than Voldemort wearing poor Harry's face. George was apparently at the shop on and off, but was always gone when an Order member came looking for him. There was no news or sightings of Harry in the public and all invitations from reporters to give a personal account of what happened had been rejected.

Molly had known straight away that it wasn't Harry. Albus now knew it wasn't Harry inside, so how could George not have noticed it by now? The Harry now was nothing like the Harry they had known before he was locked up. There was nothing about him that was the Harry Potter George should know. Why hasn't he noticed? Why hasn't he come forward with his concerns over Harry's strange behaviour? Did he think it was due to the years in prison? Surely not.

Perhaps his trust with the Order was not as strong as it used to be. Albus did confess they had been rather harsh on him when he adamantly stayed at Harry's side even after the war. Or was he angry at poor Molly, who had been accused of such a horrendous crime. Albus knew it was true, but he had tried to talk some sense into Amelia Bones and convince her it was all lies, but the damned woman believed the disguised Voldemort without hesitation. It was truly unfortunate.

Had she already used Veritaserum on Molly? If so, why was she making Molly wait in Azkaban for her trial? Albus had visited Molly a few times and reassured her he would do all in his power to get her out and home to her husband and children.

But he also had to take down Voldemort, finish the noble work Harry Potter began. In order to do that though he had to find the man, gain his trust somehow and that wouldn't be easy. Voldemort was paranoid at best, and now he knew Albus had been neglecting him in prison, faked a trial and tried to make sure Harry remained there. So he had to work hard at making Voldemort believe he was sincere about apologizing and leading him into the magical world as the hero he was. It pained Albus to even think the thought, tainting poor Harry's memory but it was the only safe way to lure Voldemort closer and kill him for good.

But how to lure Voldemort? He couldn't just walk up to the man and think the three years in Azkaban didn't matter. He had to win Voldemort's confidence, or at least win back George to his side. Make Voldemort become alone in the magical world without him noticing it, so he would seek out his only ally, George, who by then would be safe with the Order again.

They couldn't afford having Voldemort survive any longer. It was not what Harry would have wanted, Albus was sure of that. Harry had perhaps been treated badly, but all he had ever wished for was peace. Whatever Albus did, he was sure Harry would approve of it.

He started sending more Order members to George's shop, but when the employees refused to let them know where George lived, he deigned himself to write a letter, addressed to Harry where he apologized for all the misunderstandings and for his aloof behaviour. Albus made sure to stress how they should meet up and talk it all out, to make amends for Albus' "mistakes" over the years.

One of the employees did accept the letter but gave no promises that it would be delivered to where George lived with the disguised Voldemort.

-o-

George came home one day with an envelope held in his…

"Are those gloves? Why are you wearing gloves?" Harry asked.

"It's a letter from Albus Dumbledore; I'm not taking any chances. Bring me that book, will you?"

George slapped Harry's hands away from the envelope before putting it through several tests as Harry stood by his side and watched.

"Aren't you the one acting a bit too paranoid now?" he wondered.

"No," George said. "My mother poisoned you with chocolate, whilst you were in prison. I'm not having that again."

"Well, I survived it," Harry replied.

"Albus Dumbledore is not as foolish as my mother, and he probably knows way dirtier tricks to use. Alright, it looks fine."

Harry opened it and read the single parchment. He looked at it for a while and then snorted. Then again, until he couldn't contain his laughter. George took the letter and said:

"What, is it laced with laughing potion?"

His eyes scanned the contents while Harry replied:

"He wants to become my friend! Oh, does he think I'm an idiot?"

"Apparently so. Is he seriously writing 'I'm hopeful we can forget our little argument'? You didn't have an argument; he threw you into prison without giving you a trial and ignored you for the better part of three years!"

"For being such a smart person, he can really do dumb things," Harry said. "Like writing me a letter and think all will be well after that."

"Is this his ultimate plan? How the hell have they survived this long?"

"Oh, this is only the beginning."

Harry was right. When he didn't reply to the letter, he was sent another one, and another one. One was laced with a compulsion potion to reply but by that time the employees of the joke shop knew not to touch it, and Harry used the letters to kindle the fire in the living room.

Albus soon started sending Order members instead of letters but when the pleas turned into threats, George just reported them to the Ministry with names and their messages and the Order had to back off.

It moved into July and Harry was much stronger than before. He was still thin, but no longer skeletal and when he looked at himself in the mirror he didn't see the ribs as clearly as he used to. His hair was still growing longer, and he was researching for a way to correct his eyes permanently.

His birthday approached and on the day he was woken not by George but by five Dementors that glided through the open window. Well, he assumed that's what they did because when he opened his eyes they were all huddling on the bed.

"Hello," he said.

One reached into the tattered remains of the robe it was wearing and presented a package to him.

"Okay. I'm getting gifts… from Dementors. Should I be scared?" he wondered as he took the package.

It turned out to be a necklace, silver chain with a black gem. As he looked at the gem, he thought he could see it shift into a blood red from certain angles. It was heavy in his hand. More packages were thrust upon him and Harry laughed. He received more gifts from Dementors than he had received by his friends.

"You lot, you're spoiling me!" he said.

The Dementors spoke and George poked his head in.

"Oh… well, I thought the house was a bit colder than usual… um. What are they doing? What is that noise?"

"They're speaking. They… I don't know, I think they're wishing me a happy birthday."

"They can say that with a straight face?" George wondered. "Just… um, don't bring them down to the kitchen, alright?"

"I won't."

"I would come in and give you a hug, mate, but you know, Dementors in the way."

"They won't hurt you."

"No, they just like to give poor George freaking heart-attacks!"

The Dementors started chattering about his amusing redheaded friend, and Harry laughed.

"I've told you guys a dozen times, his name is George."

"They're talking about me?" he wondered, still hiding mostly behind the door.

"Yes, they think you're amusing."

"Oh, I'm amusing? It's amusing when they make me jump a foot into the air as they sneak up on me? Oh yeah, that's hilarious!"

Anger made George braver and he paved right through the Dementors, jumped up on Harry's bed and hugged him tightly.

"Bloody Dementors…" he muttered.

"My Dementors," Harry corrected.

"Sick 'em on the Order, why don't you and we'll be having a lot less trouble?"

"Oh, like that wouldn't throw suspicion on me," Harry said. "The entire Order that threw me into Azkaban conveniently dead? No, I have to be patient."

At the time it sounded like a good idea.

-o-

Birthday cakes had never been part of Harry's life. So when he was given on, he had to look at it for a while.

"What?" George said.

"It's the first time I've seen a cake meant for me," Harry said. "Let me enjoy it bit more."

"Oh, right. Mr and Mrs stupid Muggle-couple never gave you one."

"They gave me a coat hanger once. It was broken," he remembered. "And then, a sock with ten holes in it. Good times."

He was wearing the necklace the Dementors had given him over the new robes George had picked up a few days prior.

"Alright. They're not stupid; they're absolutely, completely fucking arseholes and I wish I could curse them. In the meantime, cake?" George asked.

The Dementors had left, to George's relief, and Harry was happy to spend the day just the two of them. To today's honour though, he had letters awaiting him. Many, many letters that made him annoyed just looking at them.

"How many do you think contains the content of 'You're my hero'?" George wondered.

"Too many."

"You reckon Dumbledore's mixed in with those?"

"I have no doubt about that."

It wasn't just Dumbledore. It was the whole freaking Order. Ron and Hermione, sending pictures of their kid that George shrieked at and burned before Harry could do more than glance at them. The rest of the Weasley clan sent birthday wishes, to which Harry wondered if they had forgotten the fact Molly Weasley had poisoned him and was now imprisoned for it.

Most of the letters were more or less 'You're my hero' but he threw them all away in the end.

"You don't throw heroes into prison and forget about the person for three years," he said. "Anyone could have questioned it but no one did because Voldemort was dead and the world was more or less okay in their eyes. You're the only one who didn't stop trying."

"I was one of the few that weren't tricked into thinking it was the right thing to do. Since when is it the right thing to do to throw a teenager into prison just because he managed to off the Dark Lord of the century? You should have been given a medal instead."

"I helped him kill himself, I didn't even outright kill him myself," Harry said. "But either way, killing someone isn't worth boasting over."

"Well, that's true. But still, prison wasn't the way to go."

Harry shrugged. "I like who I am now, and Azkaban made me into that. So it brought some good things in the end."

"Like the fact you have complete control over all the Dementors in existence."

Harry only smiled.

-o-

Shortly after his birthday, Harry decided he wanted to visit Diagon Alley. George looked him over and said:

"Well, you don't look like a strong wind could knock you over… let me check something."

Harry had no idea where George got the stick from, but he was poked with it, and promptly took the stick and broke it in half. George raised his hands.

"Hey, just checking," he said.

"Very funny. Can we go now?"

"In our nightclothes? I don't know about you, but I'll be changing into a robe. And possible bring many, many joke products with me because we might meet and Order member and they are definitely planning something."

"Of course they are; they probably think I'm dangerous or something nonsense of that kind."

Harry went to his room to change and looked at the two wands on his nightstand, his own dark one and Voldemort's bone-white one. He took his wand and started putting it up his sleeve when Voldemort's gave off a shrill shriek. Harry jumped and stared at the wand, quickly grabbing it and the shriek went down.

"Oh my god, Voldemort's wand is having abandonment issues," is what Harry told George when he met the young man in the living room.

"That shriek was…?"

"Yes, Voldemort's wand when I tried to leave it."

"I thought that was a banshee or something," George confessed.

"Nope, Voldemort's wand. Poor Voldemort's wand."

"Where is it now?"

"In my other sleeve?"

"Two wands? Cool."

They Flooed to the joke shop and George went round it once to chat with customers whilst Harry talked to the employees. They were nicer than most people he had met in his life, talking casually with him because George had never shut up about him even when he was in Azkaban so they never considered him to be a bad person.

_If only they saw inside my head… _

But Harry liked them, and he ended up pocketing quite a few joke items from them. George led the way out and Harry saw Diagon Alley for the first time in years.

It wasn't the same as when he saw it for the first time ever, but close. The street was filled with people chatting with one another, children running from store to store, others pressed up and admiring what was in the windows. One witch complained about the high price of a certain potion ingredient to her fellow witch, their hats ridiculously high that Harry snorted to himself. One thing he would never get used to was the fact some witches and wizards had the strangest fashion senses in existence.

Owls flew above them and he found himself briefly looking for a snow-white one, a brief pang of pain remembering Hedwig. Maybe he should get an owl… but why? He had no people he wanted to write, and if he wanted to contact Amelia Bones he could do that through the Floo, or borrow an owl.

They went to restock some potions ingredients, then to the bookstore where Harry found several he liked, and then they took a good look at brooms. He was satisfied with the one Sirius had given him, and the only flying he did was in the safety inside of the wards around the grounds to his home. He didn't feel like playing Quidditch, but thought about getting a Snitch to chase around.

"Harry."

One of the many people he didn't want to see. But Harry stopped and turned around, finding not only Albus Dumbledore there but other Order members too. He felt the wands against his arms, felt quite safe in Diagon Alley, and tried to relax. George came up behind him, and people started their whispering. Harry felt like calling for his Dementors, but that would be plain stupid. He would have done it three years ago, but that Harry had been quite foolish and so naïve this Harry here in Diagon Alley felt like weeping for him.

"Professor Dumbledore," he said, glad when his voice sounded neutral. He wanted to scream at the man, tear at his skin until he reached flesh and blood, then carve wounds into the flesh and rip out organs…

"You are quite the difficult man to get a hold of."

"I don't like to be disturbed during my recovery," Harry said and crossed his arms. "I had hoped to avoid such displeasure during this outing but I guess lady luck doesn't like me at all, does she?"

"Now, now, Harry, that was quite uncalled for…"

"I don't think it was," he cut off. "You have no reason to speak to me, unless you want to look good to the public."

"It's nothing like that, my boy."

"I'm not your boy. Never call me that again."

"Of course, of course," Albus said. "My mistake, Harry, do forgive an old man for his mistakes."

"No, I don't think I will," Harry replied.

The Order members tensed, one or two wands slapping into palms as they glared at Harry. He took out one of his own and said:

"There is nothing you can do to make me forgive you, Albus Dumbledore, so just give up. Let's go, George. I don't feel like shopping anymore."

He touched George's arm with his free hand and rounded the Order members, wand still out. George took out his own but no one attacked anyone and they made it safely to the Leaky Cauldron. They decided not to stay for lunch and moved towards the door that would take them to Muggle London.

That's when George glanced down at Harry's hand, after which he said:

"You do realize you're holding Voldemort's wand right now?"

"I am?" Harry took a look. "Well, damn, I am. It felt like I was holding my own."

"It does? Well, good for you. Although, it looks weird. I mean, white?"

"Nothing wrong with white." Harry put it away. "Reckon someone saw it?"

"I don't know."

-o-

Albus did. The moment he saw that white wand spring into Harry Potter's hand, he was truly and utterly convinced Harry Potter no longer occupied his own body. He felt like screaming, felt like weeping for the boy who could have lived a peaceful life within Albus' control and now had his own body violated by Voldemort's spirit.

George didn't look like he was Imperioed but Voldemort had always been good with those three forbidden spells. He could make it look like George was acting like normal.

"This is bad, isn't it?" Percy said. "George didn't even look at us!"

"It was Voldemort's wand," Albus said. "I strongly advised against giving both wands to Harry Potter after the trial but Amelia Bones wouldn't listen to me."

"So he even has his wand back?" Percy gasped. "This is bad, professor, truly bad."

"Yes, it is. I must get Voldemort to lower his guard. This cannot go on. He's been free for months, who know what he's been planning."

"He must be contacting Death Eaters in secret," one Order member said. "Using poor Harry's body for it!"

Albus was thinking. They couldn't follow after Lucius Malfoy because he had become far more cautious than before, and rarely moved around at large at the Ministry. He went straight home, and only his wife and son had been seen on a regular basis at Diagon Alley.

Had Voldemort already contacted the man? Was he doing something to the Ministry, following Voldemort's orders or had Lucius Malfoy become too weak to return to being a Death Eater? Was he raising a new dark empire with completely new members? Albus knew not all wizards and witches were satisfied with the new Ministry.

He had to contact Voldemort again. He had to get closer. Voldemort had to be dead before the year ended, for Albus' own sake, and for the sake of the country, as well as the magical population.

-o-

Harry sat alone that night, watching the two wands. He hadn't noticed the difference between his own wand, and Voldemort's. They felt equally good in his hands.

The summer wind drifted through the room, the night dark outside but he was used to darkness. He didn't mind darkness. It was comforting, always had been. He reached out and picked the wands up, held them in his hands. The smoothness of Voldemort's, the slight roughness of his own.

"The wand chooses its master," he murmured.

He remembered overpowering Draco, taking his wand. Remember the tale of the elder wand, how it belonged to Dumbledore, how he lost it by Draco taking it from him. Snape was killed because of that stupid wand.

Did Dumbledore still have the elder wand, despite him not being its owner? Harry wondered if he should demand it back. Perhaps he should go and find the stone as well? Had he known what he did now, he would never have left the stone in the forest anyway. You live and learn.

He twirled Voldemort's wand and felt it hum. For a moment he wished he was back in that white train station, seeing Voldemort's mutilated soul, wished he had tried to comfort it, or spoken to him. Now he may never have a chance again.

"I'll keep it safe, if that makes you feel better," he said aloud. "I mean, why not? It's your wand. That's kind of cool, me having lord Voldemort's wand. Plus it shrieks if I take my wand from its side, so I'll probably go mad if I don't bring the wand with me."

He was insane, talking to thin air, hoping a dead man would hear. A dead man whose soul could never find peace.

"That's unfair," he murmured and put the wands by his bedside. "You were scared to die all your life. For me, I think it was the opposite. I was scared to live. Look where we are. You're dead, and I'm alive."

Harry stared into the distance for a while and found his thoughts too scary to be around. He left his room and entered George's, crept into the bed and waking the man.

"Harry?" George murmured. "What are you doin'?"

"Possibly being very annoying, but I don't want to be by myself right now."

George moved over so Harry had room to lie down and grateful, Harry made himself comfortable and put his head down on the pillow. George threw the covers over him too and said:

"You better not snore…"

"Can't make any promises."

Harry fell asleep, not quite touching George but feeling safe sharing the same room. He didn't worry about Albus Dumbledore or his stupid Order, what they could do or not do. He was safe in that room, in that house. He was safe with George.

He wished it would last for a long time.

Tbc…

* * *

It's getting closer now for Harry to truly wander down into the dark lands, and become more like the nightmare man.

Chapter six: A terrible mistake releases insanity, and from there on, there is no turning back…

Until later,

See ya,

Tiro


	6. Chapter 6

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Thanks for all the reviews! This chapter officially starts Harry's descent into madness so be aware of that, everyone. Read and enjoy.

_Also_; **major character-death in this chapter**.

-o-

**Chapter Six**

Harry Potter walked into the Ministry in late August alone, and was seen by Ron and Hermione. Hermione was pregnant with their second child, their oldest with Bill and Fleur for the moment, and as she gasped Ron thought briefly that her water had broke.

But before he could start panicking, she pointed and hissed:

"It's You-Know-Who!"

He turned around. His best friend's body, occupied by that horrible dark lord, strode past several groups of gawking bystanders, dressed in black and his hair long. Those round glasses were nowhere to be seen but the scar, so hated by Harry, lay exposed for everyone to stare at. He walked relaxed yet regal, _probably just like Voldemort did _though Ron with a sneer. He knew Harry's real walk was more like hunched over, like he tried to hide, and constantly brushing his hair over the scar, afraid of being recognized, blind without those glasses.

This body looked like his friend Harry, but Ron could see clear as day that it wasn't his friend inside. He knew his friend, knew Harry didn't walk with confidence, unhurried and allowing everyone to stare at him. Those who stared too long received a smile, a smile that was nothing like the smiles Ron and Hermione had seen.

Harry's head turned and they both expected to see Voldemort's red eyes. But no, what met them was the clear green ones of their friend, whose soul no longer resided inside of that body. They saw the dark lord use their friend's face to smile a mocking smile at them before carrying on.

"I'll kill him," Ron growled. "I'll bloody kill that dark lord! Come on, 'Mione, let's go home."

She nodded and took his arm. They marched the other way, heads held high, righteousness firmly in their mind as they began to plan how to kill Voldemort. They wouldn't do anything though until Albus cleared their plans, or came up with his own; he was the one who made all the decisions, and he never made a mistake. Hermione was sure of that, and Ron had not long after that started to believe the same thing. Their leader could never be wrong.

-o-

Harry felt something was wrong as he came back from teatime with the Minister. It was his first trip on his own, and it had been rather stressful.

It wasn't the trip itself that bothered him he realized as he brushed ash from his robes. It was Ron and Hermione. It was the first time he saw them properly since he was locked up. Hermione was knocked up, they don't waste time there, and Ron had glared. But it was something with them…

"Oh Merlin, why haven't I learnt Legilimens yet?" he muttered.

Just to be sure, he'd be extra careful the next time he went outside.

"Harry, you're gonna stay in the living room much longer?"

"Sorry, just thinking."

"Don't overdo it," George called out.

"Very funny!"

"How was tea?"

Harry wandered into the kitchen where George was busy making dinner. Well, he assumed it was dinner. He'd check the dishes before eating it, or he'll be sprouting bunny ears or something.

"It was fine. The minister just wanted to check in on me, how I was doing or if anyone was causing me trouble. Other than that, we talked about Quidditch. That was quite nice."

"Good."

"I saw Ron and Hermione before that. It was… wrong. Something was wrong about it."

"Wrong in what way?" George asked as he looked up from the pots and pans.

"Just… making me nervous," Harry said, looking at the different cooking things with increasingly furrowed brows. "I need to learn Legilimens…"

When he didn't continue George said:

"And what else?"

"I'm sorry; I just can't focus on what I'm trying to say when you're cooking in front of me. I assume you're cooking."

"Oi! I'm making us dinner, so don't you dare insult my skills."

"If I get any additional limbs or bunny ears after eating, I'll curse you."

"Yeah, yeah. What was that about Legilimens? Do we have a book for that?"

"Yeah, I think I bought one," Harry said. "I just haven't opened it. Me and books… we don't share this great relationship they had with Hermione."

"So go and start getting along with those books while I finish dinner. It'll take a while yet."

"Alright. Just… please, no bunny ears."

"Fox ears?"

"No ears, period."

"Blue skin then?"

"No."

"Just a little bit?" George tried.

Harry just shook his head, and left George to it.

He managed to get through the general introduction to Legilimens when George shouted:

"No ears or blue skin, but I can't promise it'll taste like heaven!"

Harry didn't care shit about that. He'd eaten prison food for almost three years, most things tasted better than that.

"And you better eat it all," George warned. "Just because you don't look like a skeleton anymore…"

"I never looked like a skeleton!"

"Yes, you did. Anyway, you can't start skipping meals."

"Yes, mother."

"Well, I do have red hair… oi, which mother are you talking about?"

-o-

Molly Weasley was living a life of misery. Since she hadn't been given the date of the trial, she hadn't been able to properly prepare for it, and when it arrived those Ministry types hadn't even notified her family, or the Order! She had been counting on the juror members to be swayed by Albus Dumbledore's gentle and kind words about her.

Since she had been forced to face this alone, Molly had attempted to speak with Amelia Bones once she had been brought to the Ministry but the woman ignored her! She was Molly Weasley for Merlin's sake. Her family was Light and she would never do anything to harm a good person. She had tried to tell Amelia Bones and the rest of the jurors in the trial that the person she aimed to kill was Voldemort, not Harry Potter but had they even bothered to listen? No! They found her guilty of attempted murder and shipped her right back to Azkaban.

Now she was trapped in Azkaban, for how many years? A lifetime punishment for the fact she tried to help the magical world! Albus had been notified about the trial's outcome when she was already back in Azkaban, and had come to reassure her he would do everything in his power to help her get out. Arthur had visited her too, and most of her children had been by to make sure she wasn't alone in this hell.

She didn't speak to the other prisoners. They liked to yell at her though, in particular a Rabastan Lestrange. He didn't shout too often, but whenever she was led past his cell he always had a comment that made her furious. He seemed to hold a soft spot for Harry Potter. Of course; he must have seen it was Voldemort! Why couldn't anyone else _see_ it?

Well, at least the Order knew, and Albus said they were working to have Voldemort removed from this world. Then everyone would see what she had tried to do, and she would surely be pardoned. Molly waited for that day, because Albus Dumbledore was the Light leader and wouldn't let a Light member be stuck in Azkaban.

She didn't even think about Sirius Black, because she had never liked the man. He was too wild, even as young and when he got out he was worse. He tried to corrupt Harry to become as wild as him, and spoke lightly at the fact Harry could have been expelled in the summer before his fifth year! Horrible man who did nothing to help Nymphadora, bless her heart, to gain Remus' attention. Well, at least they became a good, proper couple after Sirius went and got himself killed, the oaf.

No, Molly Weasley occupied her time thinking of her children and grandchildren, and how much her family missed her. She even thought George might come to his senses. He had to grow up now, and let go of Fred's memory. He needed to get married and start a family of his own, as was his duty to the magical world. Once she got out, she would work on that. Even Bill, the wild card of her family, was happily married! Now, if he only would cut his hair to a more respectable length…

-o-

It was driving Harry mad seeing Ron and Hermione's looks every time he closed his eyes. What the hell were they thinking when they looked at him? They knew he didn't deserve to be in Azkaban, they knew who he was so why on Earth had his former best friends looked at him like he was… well, like he was Voldemort?

Did they believe Voldemort somehow lived on inside of Harry, since Harry didn't throw himself at Albus' feet to lick the man's boots the moment he was let out of Azkaban, or because he didn't offer to marry Ginny and have them start a family like, _yesterday _or something?

That was… well, ridiculous. The reason why he no longer felt the need to please anyone from the Order or his old life was because he had seen what they did to someone they supposedly liked. Threw him into Azkaban and faked a trial to make everyone forget about him, and not ask for a reason why he was there in the first place.

But… the looks. Still those looks.

"I think they think I'm Voldemort," Harry finally confessed to George.

"Who think what?" George asked, looking up from some papers.

"Ron and Hermione. Their stares at the Ministry the other day… I'm sure of it. Yep, they think I'm Voldemort."

"But that's ridiculous!"

"Well, it's certainly not stopping them."

"It's completely stupid!"

"George, your brother never was the sharpest person in school."

"But Hermione… she's smart!" George tried with.

"Yes, and she sees everything in complete black or white, no in-between," Harry said. "She believes everything she does is right, and therefore anyone acting differently is wrong, evil in her case. That's why she's ruthless, and downright scary."

"She's mental."

"Oh no, she's one of the most brilliant witches in our generation. She's just… so linear. I'm no longer the Harry Potter I knew, so therefore the new me is evil, and evil for her is Voldemort, and I used to have part of him inside so… she probably thinks I'm dead and Voldemort's using my body to live on or something ludicrous as that."

"That's it. You're not going outside alone, ever again. We'll move to France or something, get a house, alert their Ministry of the insanity of Dumbledore's Order members and eat snails."

"Ugh, of all the things you can eat in France, you pick snails of course," Harry said. "That's disgusting."

"I've heard it's good!" George protested. "But seriously, you're not going out alone."

"_Yes_, mother."

"You still haven't told me which one you're referring to."

"You can be my second mother? Yours was… used to be a sort of mother figure but I don't keep those who try to poison me to death."

"I wouldn't keep that one either. Did you know I've gotten letters from my dear family asking me to support her release? I sent them a howler. Finally I get to send a howler!"

"You actually sent your own family a howler?" Harry asked.

"Yes. I would have sent something worse had I been able to."

Harry thought about it for a bit and then said:

"You should have written a letter but coated the parchment with some potion. A prank potion, or something that hurts. I've heard there's a potion that peels of your skin."

"Ooh, that sounds positively devilish. You reckon professor Snape's ever tried that one?"

"I have no doubt that Snape, at some point in his life, did make that only to see if it was for real."

-o-

Albus Dumbledore was a stubborn man, Harry concluded. He sent numerous letters, apologizing and urging Harry to do the right thing and meet with him and the Order again.

Then he made it sound like all was already forgiven, and events the two of them could attend together to show the magical world their hero was back. He sent dates and times, and of course George could come to, the more the merrier!

Harry started reading the letters, if only to have fun at them. Some were coated in potions to make Harry fall prey to the subtle orders in the written words, like that he should immediately go to Albus and pledge his loyalty to the man, or that he should invite Ginny out for a date. They were the perfect couple, and naturally Harry should help getting Molly Weasley out of Azkaban, because she was a sweet lady and wonderful mother.

Yeah, Molly Weasley was a wonderful mother who managed to kill Bellatrix Lestrange with some quite horrific spells, and tried to kill Harry in cold blood. He did reply to that, just to see what kind of lie Albus would make up.

He got a response where Dumbledore stressed Molly had made a wee mistake, let's forget all about it, _clap on the back and date her daughter please_-kind of thing which made Harry wonder if the old man hadn't gone off his rocker at some point during these last three years. He was definitely crazy if he thought his tactics were working.

"It's kind of sad," Harry said one day. Albus had sent fourteen letters during breakfast.

"What, that we don't need to use firewood anymore because the amount of letters are enough to start a fire?" George wondered.

"No, Albus Dumbledore. I mean, at some point he must have been one of the strongest wizards alive. He was respected; you don't respect an old fool. So what went wrong to make him think fourteen letters all worded more or less 'Go and make babies with child to the woman who tried to kill you' will actually work?"

"I think it's safe to say he's gone insane," George said. "You done with any of them? I need one."

"Yeah, I just finished letter number three. This is actually funnier than any book I've ever read."

Harry handed over the read ones and went to the fourth. He wore gloves, as did George, whenever a bunch of Albus' letters came in and they always made sure to scrub the surface of whatever they lay on before they were put into the fireplace.

"It's sad and funny at the same time."

"Tragic more like," Harry said in response to George's words as he began to read. "Oh, he wants me to come to the Ministry so we can go to Amelia and tell her we want a statue in Diagon Alley."

"We?"

"Yes, me and him. He is suggesting that it will be one where he is the guide to the hero of the magical world, meaning me. How can he write these words and honestly believe them? I would've died laughing if I tried to write this shit."

"Yeah, you and me both. Come on, hurry up, I need more fire."

-o-

Albus decided for the death of Voldemort to look accidental. A stray spell in Diagon Alley had killed people before. He decided this after Amelia Bones stopped answering his letters regarding both Harry Potter and Molly Weasley. She even sent him a howler. Him, the great Albus Dumbledore!

The new school year had begun but luckily he had received it in his office, the only witnesses to it the former headmasters and Fawkes. However, that was bad enough, and some of them had kept snickering long after the howler ended.

So he made the decision at the next Order meeting with the approval of all Order members present. However, killing Voldemort would be slightly more difficult since he was rarely in Diagon Alley and he didn't fall for any of Albus' rouses in the letters. He had coated the letters with compulsion potions but still, the man didn't come and so it had turned into a waiting game. Albus would post a few Order members throughout Diagon Alley, and with strict instructions on how to kill Voldemort. No Avada Kedavra, since it was a forbidden spell. A cutting curse, preferably across the throat to ensure a quick, relatively painless death. Albus did not want Voldemort to suffer more than what was necessary.

September dragged on with no sign of Harry Potter, the now famous reclusive hero of the Wizarding world. George Weasley had seen at the shop, but no Order member could report they saw Potter's body in there, and besides, Albus didn't want to kill him inside of a shop. That would look too suspicious. Still, he continued to send letters, hoping one would work. He thought Voldemort would want to blend in, make himself known even when wearing Harry Potter's face and the best way to do that was to try and make up with Albus as quickly as possible. Was Voldemort hesitant to face Albus? Perhaps his Occlumency shields weren't working quite as well in another body. Whatever it was, Albus couldn't for the life of him figure out why Voldemort chose to make himself isolated from the rest of the magical world.

Then, in early October he himself was in Diagon Alley when he saw Harry Potter's body with George Weasley. The two stood outside of a broom shop, talking and pointing at something in the window. Albus had to give Voldemort credit for even learning about Quidditch in order to sell himself as Harry Potter to everyone else, but he couldn't fool the great Albus Dumbledore.

Here was their chance, and he himself got to do it! To think under his lifetime, he would defeat not only one dark lord but two, and the second one twice! Sure, Harry Potter had ended Voldemort's war when he was seventeen but he could _never _have done it without Albus' guidance.

Albus pulled out his wand, his real one and not the elder wand. It hadn't responded at all since Draco disarmed him in sixth year, but he still kept the wand with him in case it would change its mind. Albus put up several charms on himself so people wouldn't notice him and then raised his wand at Harry's body.

The cutting curse would hit Harry's body in the back and in the neck if all went well. Voldemort would bleed out in minutes, if even that. Albus said:

"Forgive me, Harry, for what I'm about to do to your body."

The spell left Albus' wand, and raced towards Harry Potter's body. Albus felt triumph in his chest, could taste victory in the air…

But it was replaced with horror when George, having noticed the spell, pulled Harry away, and the spell tore open his unprotected chest. Albus saw bones splinter and organs cut cleanly in half even as blood seemed to explode from him. It poured out of George's mouth and nose even as he began to fall. Harry's face was an open book of… fear. Fear, sorrow, anger, anguish…

His eyes looked around the Alley, now filled with screaming people, and found Albus. Albus stared right into those brilliant green eyes and saw… he saw Harry. Harry's mind, his thoughts, his memories. He was still so easy to slip into, and Albus Dumbledore saw nothing that pointed him to Voldemort.

He realized who he really was looking at. He had counted Harry Potter as dead due to his strange behaviour after Azkaban but Albus was wrong. Harry Potter was alive, and Albus had just more or less killed his friend.

Harry screamed. It was a feral scream, a scream filled with hate and pain and sorrow, and magic tore up around him. The windows of all the shops shattered and the magic hiding Diagon Alley from Muggle London tore in half for the briefest of moments as Harry Potter did the impossible; he Apparated despite the anti-Apparition set up in the alley.

-o-

It should have just been a normal day. George was the one to suggest at breakfast that they'd go and have a look around Diagon Alley. School had begun so they weren't too worried about Albus Dumbledore showing up and doing something stupid. There were other Order members but they had taken precautions.

Not enough precautions, it turned out. Harry hadn't known anything was wrong until he was pulled away by George, and then George was falling, chest torn open and blood everywhere. Harry had seen Albus Dumbledore, wand still raised, eyes wide.

He had been aiming for Harry. Harry could see that in his mind, had slipped inside just as easily as Albus had slipped into his head. They read each other's thoughts. While Albus was horrified to learn he had been mistaken about Harry's true identity, _he really thought I was Voldemort_, Harry was filled with rage.

Harry didn't remember Apparating, wasn't even aware he had done it before landing in their living room, George in his arms. Once he realized he was there and not at St Mungo's he tried to gather magic to make the journey there but he couldn't focus and when he looked down he saw only a dying body. George wouldn't make it. It was a miracle that he was still breathing.

That didn't stop Harry from trying to save him, stop the blood flow and heal George's damaged organs which included both lungs and his heart. George fumbled for his hand and said:

"Harry…?"

"Don't speak, George, it'll be alright… I'll get you to St Mungo's, just hold on…"

"It's… too late…"

"No, it's not! I should've gone there straight away!"

"Harry… look at me."

Those words. Snape's words, his last words… Harry didn't realize he was crying until his vision blurred for the first time since he had corrected his poor eyesight some weeks before.

But he looked at George. George, whose skin was now pale, nearing white, whose blood looked black as it came trickling out of his mouth.

"I… I think… I have to go… I'll go and see… Fred. I'll tell him… you said hi."

George tried to smile. Harry couldn't return it. His eyes scanned now, the torn flesh, the blood, one lung gone, the other going fast, the heart… barely pumping, the organs… it was a mess. His magic couldn't fix anything. Couldn't fix what was already lost.

"George, _please_… please don't leave me."

"It's alright…" George got a hand up, wiped the tears away, spreading blood on Harry's cheeks. "It's okay. I'm just… going ahead, alright? I'll wait for you… with Fred… take your time."

"No, I don't want you to go! I need you to stay with me!"

George gagged on the blood, and Harry saw his heart stop. Just as he had watched the light go out in Severus Snape's eyes, he watched the light go out in George's. Less than two minutes had passed since George was struck. Less than two minutes for Harry's life to turn from bliss into hell.

"George…?"

_Stupid Harry. Dead people can't talk. Dead people's bodies can't talk, and I don't have the stone._

What would the stone do? Bring George's soul back; that was it. He didn't want the soul, he wanted the whole package. Harry sat up, George's body slipping from his grasp. The carpet was ruined now.

_Like I care_.

There was blood on his cheeks, on his hands and arms, practically everywhere. The smell was overwhelming and Harry gagged. It wasn't just any blood, it was George's blood. His friend's blood, on the carpet they had both treaded over so many times. The clock above the mantelpiece ticked. Then it stopped. There was a moment's silence.

A vase shattered nearby. Harry kept looking at George, hands lax in his lap. Somewhere, a window blew out but he didn't move. Magic, his magic, vibrated around the whole house, made it shake and creak like it was about to break apart. He opened his mouth, forced his body to do something, _anything_.

He screamed.

-o-

Harry wasn't sure how much time had passed when he felt the reassuring cold of Dementors closing in. George's body was cool, not quite stiff, his eyes still open but cloudy. Harry closed them as the first Dementor came inside the house. It stopped for a moment, and then moved closer, hands outstretched, touching Harry's shoulders, then sitting down behind him.

"Albus Dumbledore tried to kill me," Harry said. "He thought I was Voldemort. Kill me in broad daylight. George saved me. I'm not sure I wanted him to do that."

The Dementor made a sound and held him closer.

"Screw this," he said. "I tried… tried to think of settling down, not get back at the Light for the years I lost… I had almost convinced myself that's what I wanted. But now? Screw that. The leader of the so-called Light murdered my friend."

He wasn't sure why he was so calm. Perhaps the screaming and crying had taken away the burning anger. Now he just felt numb but certain of what he would do.

He'd destroy the entire Order. He wouldn't become anyone's hero; he'd become their nightmare.

"Go back to Azkaban," he told one of the Dementors hovering nearby, "and tell everyone to be ready. Let's open all the doors tonight, and then, you're all coming with me."

So Albus had thought him to be Voldemort. Harry rose up, levitating George's body off the floor. Well, if Albus had thought he was Voldemort, then why not become Voldemort for a bit?

-o-

George had jokingly bought black robes for Harry shortly after he was released and told him he could practice on his dark lord persona with them.

Harry put those black robes on after cleaning off George's blood and looked at himself in the mirror. He sort of looked a bit like professor Snape. Well, without the crooked nose and yellow teeth but his skin was pale at least. He wondered for a moment why the robes still fit, found magic in the fabric and realized they must have some sort of charm on them. George must have asked for it.

The wands went up his sleeves. He didn't cry anymore. The thought of George's corpse nearby did hurt; it hurt more than anything but he didn't cry.

A Dementor hovered behind him. Harry would bury George later, once he had… once he had become what Albus feared. Or, he would be worse because Voldemort had never really had full control over the Dementors and he had wanted to take out the Muggles. Harry wasn't as interested in Muggles as he was in the good guys at this moment.

"I guess that'll make me an enemy to the entire magical world though," he said to himself. "Well, it's not like I really wanted to be best friend with the minister."

He'd kill her too if she tried to protect those Harry wanted dead.

The Dementor put its rotten hands on Harry's shoulders, enveloped him in chilly air that made him shudder in delight. The cold was his friend, the darkness his ally.

"But I won't be Voldemort, not really," he said, looking at the Dementor though the mirror. "Because I won't let it become a war. It'll just be slaughter. Their blood on my hands, and my hands only. I won't kill them in George's name. I'll destroy them in my own. Because I can and because I want to."

The Dementor's response sounded almost like a growl, an approving one and Harry smiled.

"Let's go and break into Azkaban."

-o-

Rabastan had noticed the Dementors seemed restless. Molly Weasley, a few cells down from his own, was shouting at them. He chuckled; like that would make them go away. If anything, it'd make them come closer.

The Aurors didn't seem to like it either, but soon they had something else to worry about.

"There's an intruder!" one shouted. "He's coming this way!"

Rabastan grabbed the bars of the cell. An intruder in Azkaban? He didn't know of anyone strong or confident enough beside his old master to break into Azkaban when it was filled with Dementors and Aurors.

"Dementor, you!" one Auror shouted to a Dementor nearby. "Go and capture him. Alive, don't you dare suck his soul! What are you doing, it's the other way!"

The Dementor approached the Auror who continued to shout at it. Rabastan watched the creature with interest, even as it grabbed the Auror and lowered its horrible face to the man's own.

"Stop it!"

It didn't stop, grabbed the Auror's wand arm before clamping its jaw around the man's mouth and sucked his soul out. Rabastan stared at the sight. Well, he never thought…

The wand clattered onto the ground, followed by the body. The Dementor straightened up and turned around as steps were heard. The creature bowed low, to Rabastan's surprise.

Then someone emerged from the shadows, walked towards them, face half-concealed by a black hood at first. When the man came closer, pale hands reached up and removed the hood.

"Potter!"

Harry Potter looked over at Rabastan and said:

"Good evening, Rabastan. How are you feeling this lovely, crisp October day?"

"Have you gone mental, Potter?"

"No, not really."

He pulled out a wand. Voldemort's wand, Rabastan would recognize it anywhere.

"Where did you get that wand?" he asked.

"It was given to me, and seems to like me. Maybe I remind it of its previous master."

He unlocked Rabastan's door with a wave of the wand and the Dementors did the same to other cells, Aurors shouting in other parts of the prison before presumably Dementors finished them off.

"You have gone mental," Rabastan said but with a grin on his face even as Molly screamed.

"Don't kill her," Harry said to the two Dementors holding the redheaded woman. "I want to talk to her."

"What does that Weasley boy have to say about all this?" Rabastan wondered.

"My son would never consent to this, Voldemort!" Molly shrieked. "What have you done to my little boy?!"

"Murdered people unfortunately don't get to have an opinion on what living people do," Harry told Rabastan.

"George Weasley is dead?" Rabastan said.

"No! You killed him, you bastard!" Molly screamed. "You killed my boy!"

Harry sighed, and moved. He was fast and Molly's skull cracked against the wall with the force Harry used to push her. He grabbed her around the neck even as she trashed against his hold.

"Your precious Albus Dumbledore murdered George," he told her. "But don't you worry; I'll kill Albus for that. I'll kill everyone for that. You wanted me to be Voldemort that badly? Congratulations, Mrs Weasley; you won. I became the monster you wanted me to be. Only Albus had to kill George in order for that to happen, so I'll be sure to thank him _thoroughly_."

The tone of his voice was enough to make Rabastan shudder but he didn't back down. Potter may have gone completely off his rocker, but Rabastan was a killer through and through, a follower of the dark. Potter had earned the trust of Voldemort's wand, and that was enough for Rabastan to fully trust the young man.

"You monster!" Molly screamed.

"Yes, yes, whatever."

Harry pointed Voldemort's wand at her and green light began to appear, before he even started to say the spell. But then it evaporated and he took his hand away from her, making the woman crumble at his feet.

"The lord would never hesitate," Rabastan said. "Didn't you say you'd become him?"

"I lied. Voldemort's favourite spell was Avada Kedavra, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's not my favourite spell. It's too kind."

"What…?"

Harry cut her open with a hissed command of:

"_Sectumsempra!_"

Molly's organs and intestines spilled out on the floor and Harry backed away, tilting his head as he watched her scream and try and hold her own organs inside of her body. Blood poured out onto the floor.

"Potter…" Rabastan came up next to him. "What spell is that?"

"A very effective one," Harry told him. "Your wand?"

"Snapped the first time I came to Azkaban, the second one likewise." Rabastan went back and picked up the Auror's wand, flicking it a few times. "This one will work for now. George is really dead?"

"He was killed today."

"So that's why I didn't hear about it… you say Albus Dumbledore killed him?"

"He was aiming for me," Harry said, pushing at Molly a bit to make her moan in pain. "George saved me. He bled out in two minutes; there was nothing anyone could have done to save him. I tried but… the damage was too great."

"I see. What are your plans now?"

"Destroy their world and peace. For myself. I don't care what they think or want. I want to destroy them."

"Well, point me at the nearest village and I'll help you with that."

"Magical village?"

"I don't care which."

"I don't either. Which is why I destroyed at least five on my way here," Harry replied. "Aberdeen's closest, but I don't think you can kill over two hundred thousand people."

"Eh, give me some time and I'll manage to chip away at them at least."

"How about letting the magical world know it's screwed by allowing Dementors to feast on them?" he wondered. "Yes, you can eat her soul now."

The one Dementor that had stayed by Harry's side after the others had gone to fight over the Aurors' souls dove at Molly and sucked her soul before her body died. Then it returned to Harry's side and Harry turned to Rabastan.

"Shall we?" he asked.

Rabastan grinned.

"Oh, I think I'm going to enjoy this…"

Tbc…

* * *

So we are seeing the birth of the man who will become the Nightmare Lord. But it's far from over; this is only the beginning…

Chapter seven: Destruction and death begins.

Until later,

Tiro


	7. Chapter 7

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Oh my god, I actually killed George. For those you cried at that, don't worry that I'm a heartless soul; I couldn't stop crying either.

With that out of the way; read and enjoy this chapter!

_Violence is described, but not graphic._

-o-

**Chapter Seven**

Aberdeen wasn't exactly quiet but it was late at night, and most of the city's inhabitants were indoors so it was definitely calmer than usual. Few took notice of the plummeting temperature, although many felt uneasy for no obvious reason. They felt… well, almost watched.

Had they looked out, they wouldn't have seen anything that would help them figure out why they were so uneasy. But somewhere in that city moved creatures that would've driven them insane, and somewhere was a small number of strange people in ragged robes, and wands.

As the people of Aberdeen remained ignorant to the growing number of Dementors invading their city, prisoners of Azkaban were getting ready to have some fun.

Frost began to appear on windows. As Dementors moved into houses and flats, buildings of all kind, Muggles could hear them breathing. Panic ensued, panic of not seeing their attackers, panic at feeling the cold, panic at invisible hands grabbing their shoulders and then… nothing. Just screams as people began to fall, eyes open, still breathing but irretrievably gone.

People spilled out from their houses, their flats, running into the street only to meet with more cold, and then the people in ragged robes with light coming out of their wands. The streets of Aberdeen were filled with screams and laughter, the sounds of people falling, fire rising towards the sky as buildings were set alight.

Within minutes, Aberdeen was thrown into chaos, and carnage.

-o-

Harry moved through the burning city, listening to the screams of the Muggles as they died, one by one, glancing down at his hands at some point. They were covered in blood. Correction; _he _was covered in blood. That didn't matter. It wasn't as if he hated these particular Muggles. They were just a part of his message to the Light side, and therefore, of no importance other than to serve as a reminder that darkness would always be there.

The streets were filling up with people, empty shells of people that the Dementors left behind, living corpses. Harry watched them, prodded at one arm just to see if the body gave a reaction. Nothing. The people still lived, but what kind of life was that? He wondered briefly what really happened to the souls. He knew they were lost, those souls that the Dementors took but in what way? Did the Dementors consume souls like food or did the souls go somewhere else? Maybe he should ask. Right now he wasn't sure if he wanted to know. But he should ask at some point.

He was taken out of his own head when he spotted movement that weren't the prisoners, or a Dementor, or fire. It was a girl. A tiny little girl in a white nightgown, blood spatter across her face, mixing with her tears. Harry watched her come closer. The Ministry would be coming soon, he was sure of that, and with it the Order would also follow. The bodies were message enough, but he wanted something extra… something that really pointed at Albus Dumbledore to make the old man uncomfortable, or feel like a target.

So with a few swipes of his wand he scrubbed himself clean of blood, more or less, before putting both wands away and kneeling down. He wasn't sure if it would work but the girl was distressed enough to find his embrace comforting. She sobbed into his shoulder and he made a few shushing noises, stroke her trembling back and then conjured a blanket, wrapping it around her. He then stood up and took her hand, walking her over to the shelter of a shop. She was still crying, stumbling behind him. Her hand was clammy, uncomfortable, but he still held on.

Logically Harry knew he should feel sympathy for her. She was just a child, an innocent child who had done nothing wrong to anyone. But he couldn't. He didn't know how to. No one ever comforted him when he was a child. That shushing thing he had seen in the few movies aunt Petunia had allowed him to see on the telly. He wasn't sure if it was for real, or if it was just a movie trick but it had worked on her so he assumed it had some basis in reality.

"Hey," he said, and she slowly focused on him. "Can you do something for me?"

"M-mum… and dad… they're… they fell… a-and didn't… get up. Are they d-dead?"

"Yes, they're dead, they won't ever come back," Harry said. "But in a while, men and women in long robes will come here and make you forget all this. However, I won't let them make you forget until you tell them something. Until you give them a message, alright?"

"A message?" she managed.

Magic worked around him, then around her, made sure she couldn't be Obliviated until she told Albus Dumbledore the message he wanted the old man to hear. Harry smiled as he saw the magic take root, how she stiffened at first and then nodded.

"I will. What m-message?"

"Albus Dumbledore, you and your Order asked for a dark lord. You have now received one. Can you remember to say that, in that exact order?"

She nodded. He smiled wider, wasn't sure if it was a nice one but she smiled back so it couldn't be all that bad. He wiped away some of her tears, smearing the blood in the process. Maybe it was her parents' blood.

"Stay here, on this spot, and the men and women in long robes should be here soon."

"O-okay."

"Good girl."

He rose up and left her shivering at the steps of the shop, calling the Dementors to him again, telling them to notify the prisoners that the Ministry would be coming shortly but he asked one to bring Rabastan to him. Said and done, one appeared soon enough with Rabastan in tow who waved himself loose from the Dementor's grip and exclaimed:

"Oi, I wasn't done!"

"I reckon Aurors will be here soon. You want back to Azkaban already?"

"What? No! Alright, we'll go. The others?"

"They've been notified but I like you so I thought to tell you personally."

"Oh, alright. Thanks, Potter. By the way, do you know somewhere safe where I can hole up for the time being?"

"I have a house. There are guest rooms."

"You sure?"

"What, are you scared of me?"

The sounds of people Apparating in reached them. They both heard people shout out orders, and Harry recognized some of the voices as Order members. They wouldn't die tonight. Perhaps another night. He turned back to Rabastan, waited for his answer, which he soon got:

"Well, not really. I just took your for a more private person and besides, that house was Weasley's too, right? He just died so won't I be… I don't know, intruding?"

"Does Death Eaters know the meaning of that word?"

"Some of us are slightly more civilized than the rest, thank you very much."

"You never struck me as civilized," Harry confessed.

"I know; it's all part of my plan of making people underestimate me. Seriously, I won't be intruding?"

"George won't mind."

"Course he won't, he's dead."

"He wouldn't have minded even if he lived. But then again, if he was alive I probably wouldn't be doing this."

"Hey, we all got our breaking point. Sorry yours had to be that extreme. Shall we get going?" Rabastan said. "Cold night like this and so many broken walls at Azkaban, I'm sure to get sick if I end up there again."

"Azkaban breeds sickness, not just in body but also in the mind," Harry said.

"Nice way of saying we're all crazy."

"I do include myself, if that makes you feel any better." Harry grabbed Rabastan's arm before looking at the Dementors. "You know where to go."

Then he Apparated.

-o-

Albus had not seen such destruction in some years as the one he was seeing now in Aberdeen. So many buildings had been set on fire and bodies littered the streets.

Worse news came when they realized many bodies were victims of the Dementor's Kiss and Aurors were sent to Azkaban only to find the prison abandoned, the prisoners gone and all Aurors dead along with one Molly Weasley.

By then Albus knew who had done it. He was certain of it. The same day he kills George Weasley by accident, Harry Potter witnessing it, and this happens? Harry Potter was behind it all, as hard as it was to believe.

For months now he had believed Harry Potter was dead, only to discover he, Albus Dumbledore, had been wrong. The shock had given way to calculations but by the time he started thinking of a way to convince Harry he hadn't meant to hurt him or George, Harry had Apparated out of Diagon Alley, bringing the dying George with him. It shouldn't have been possible. Not even Voldemort had been that strong to break through the wards that surrounded Diagon Alley.

This destruction fit Voldemort's style more but Harry Potter had shown them, shown Albus, that he was not the same person they put into Azkaban. He went in as an innocent teenager and came out as a dark man.

Albus was not to blame; he couldn't even imagine that someone would ever think he was responsible for Harry's state of mind when the young man was released from prison. Everything Albus had done, he had done for the greater good. That would never change. He had always believed that, and he wasn't wrong to have locked Harry up in Azkaban. The boy had been too strong for his own good and with his background at the Dursleys, too easily swayed to the darker side of humanity. Albus had needed time for Harry to settle down, become weak, so he could control the teenager for the rest of his life.

Instead Harry came out stronger than ever, and somehow with the Dementors on his side. What did he promise them? Carnage and as many people as they wanted to feast upon?

The Ministry had noted that five other villages had been attacked, one with a mixed population of Muggles and magical people. The magical signature left behind confirmed Harry Potter had been the attacker there as well. Here in Aberdeen the magical signatures were mixed up but Harry's would be there somewhere.

"Albus!"

Amelia Bones herself was there, and her glare didn't bode well now. Albus still turned to her, ever the gentle and kind grandfatherly figure, and was followed by the other Order members.

"Yes, Minister?" he said.

"This Muggle girl has a message for you," she said, pointing at a young girl, clearly traumatized what she had seen.

"You have not Oblivated the poor girl yet? Minister, surely that is not good conduct, the girl clearly needs to forget this awful night."

"Don't blame me. We can't Obliviate her. Magic prevents us from doing that. She has to speak her message before anyone can make her forget the fact her parents were ripped apart in front of her," Amelia said rather frostily in response.

Albus approached them both, Amelia with her rigid posture and the girl, looking no older than eight years old.

"Yes, child? What do you need to say?" he said to her kindly. Was the message specifically to him, or had Amelia already heard it?

The girl looked at him, and magic seized her, made her go stiff in front of them. They all felt it, the darkness of it and her mouth opened by its own accord and she spoke mechanically:

"Albus Dumbledore, you and your Order asked for a dark lord. You have now received one."

Everyone froze around her. The girl sniffed as her limbs relaxed, two fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Who told you that?" Albus said.

"He had a scar. It looked like a lightning bolt," the girl said, pointing a shaking finger at her own forehead.

"Was he alone? Did you feel any strange temperature differences around him? Was there men and women in robes with him?"

"Albus, that's enough, she's said her message…"

"You don't want more information from her?" Albus said, glaring at Amelia. "The girl could hold something important that would help us find him!"

Find Harry Potter, and control him. Or kill him. Either way was fine with Albus right now. That message was a taunt, a taunt towards him! Ridiculous!

"His eyes…" the girl said and they focused on her again. "They were dead."

"How do you mean?" Amelia said, her tone soft and gentle.

"He looked like my dad did, when my uncle died. Like he couldn't decide… whether to scream, or to cry. Why did the man look so sad?"

"That's enough, get her out of here. Get her to safety."

"He looked so sad…" the girl kept repeating as an Auror picked her up. The tiny hands gripped the robes, shaking slightly.

Once the girl was gone Amelia turned to Albus. None of that gentleness remained in her face; she was a stone-cold mask.

"I heard George Weasley was attacked at Diagon Alley today," she said. "You mind telling me about that?"

"I assure you, Minister, we only had our world's best interest in mind…"

"By doing what? Killing Harry Potter and his friend?"

"No, it was…" But it hadn't been Voldemort. Should he still say it was Voldemort? But no, she hadn't believed him before…

Amelia didn't give him a chance to formulate an appropriate answer.

"From the witnesses' reports we are certain that spell killed George Weasley. They saw someone greatly resembling you cast it. You killed George in front of Harry Potter. That must have been the last straw for the poor boy you've tortured for so many years."

"Tortured?" Albus said, alarmed.

"Oh, he told me. How you forced him to return to his abusive relatives year after year, how he begged for someone to save him," she said, stepping into Albus' space, eyes boring holes into him. "This destruction is on you and that bloody Order of yours, Albus! You broke Harry Potter already as a child, and now… what is he now? A dark lord by your creation. Some say you created Voldemort too. You wish to be remembered to have defeated _three_ dark lords? One wasn't enough? Two wasn't enough?! Fool!"

She walked away before he could say anything. Albus was too shocked for a moment to speak. Amelia Bones had never been shy or timid but to speak such outrageous words to him, the great Albus Dumbledore…!

"We'll find Harry Potter," Shacklebolt said behind Dumbledore. "We'll end this."

"Something must still be wrong with him," Arthur said. "To kill so many people… and Molly. My sweet Molly…"

"Yes, we'll stop him. The poor child," Albus said absently, calculating how to kill Harry Potter quickly before he could come up with more damage about the Order.

During all this Albus stared at the destruction of Aberdeen and was completely convinced his earlier actions had not done this, had not made Harry Potter into the monster he was now. All he did was for the greater good; all was done for the greater good.

-o-

Harry wasn't that surprised when Rabastan came out of the house.

"You're burying him in the middle of the night?" Rabastan asked, glancing at George's still face. The blood was gone and George had been dressed in a new robe to hide the injuries to his body.

"I'd rather do it now," Harry said. "I like nights. Or rather, I like the dark. Grew up in a cupboard, so darkness was the thing I was surrounded with the most."

"Cupboard?"

"Muggles," he said, not explaining any further. "I don't have a coffin."

"Do you usually have that?" Rabastan asked.

"Well… I've only heard of funerals, I've never been to one," Harry confessed. "My parents died and got buried I guess but I don't know how, I just saw their grave once. My godfather didn't even leave a body behind."

"Yeah, Bellatrix kind of pushed him into a veil of death," Rabastan said.

"Yeah. I don't like her for that."

"She was a hard woman to like from the start. Now, I'm not making excuses for my behaviour, I'm not an easy person to like but she took it to a whole new level."

"Did your brother love her?"

"Nah, it was an arranged marriage. He didn't really care."

"Lots of things that doesn't make sense. I'll skip the coffin. Maybe I should bury him next to Fred. Only I don't know where Fred's buried."

"Or you could steal Fred's body and take it here," Rabastan said.

"That would be… grave-robbing," Harry said.

"Potter, how many people have you killed today?"

"Um, quite a lot I guess."

"Grave-robbing won't be anything in comparison to that."

Harry considered this. He didn't really want to put George's body in a graveyard. He wanted George's body to be here, near the house.

"Okay. I'll go find Fred's grave and bury him next to George."

His own words should have scared him, would have scared him if he was seventeen. But now he wasn't. The Harry Potter who grew up in a dark cupboard and wanted peace for the world was gone, buried deep inside his mind. The new Harry Potter didn't particularly care about the world. It held no meaning to him.

Rabastan helped him put George's body down into the hole once it was deep enough and then cover it up. Harry thought the tears would come at any minute but although his eyes burned, nothing came out.

"You need a minute alone?" Rabastan asked, which was kind of funny because they were surrounded by Dementors and had been from the start.

"You should rest," was all Harry said. "Azkaban takes its toll on everyone."

"Yeah. It does."

If Rabastan looked at Harry while he said it, Harry didn't know. He heard the man leave, go back into the house and then he kneeled down next to the fresh earth. He put a hand on it, felt the damp and stayed there for a while. He thought of the things they had done since he got out. Every laugh and smile. There had been so many.

"I hope you and Fred are having a good laugh and catching up," Harry said at last. "I don't think I'll be laughing that same way for a while."

If he ever would again.

-o-

The next day Harry fully realized what he had done, as he lay in bed trying to rest. He had killed people. Muggles, wizards and witches alike. He had unleashed dozens of dangerous wizards and witches from Azkaban and taken all the Dementors with him. Rabastan Lestrange was sleeping in a guest bedroom for Merlin's sake!

But his main concern was that he was hungry.

"There's something wrong with me," he told one Dementor. It tilted its head at him. "I'm not joking. There is something seriously wrong with me, and I want eggs."

He sat up. The dizziness attacked him, smacked his head and he fell back down again, moaning.

"I used up a lot of magic yesterday," he said, flapping an arm over his eyes. "Someone, make eggs for me? Something?"

Another Dementor snuck out of the room and Harry rolled over to his stomach. He grabbed one of the wands, then both and pulled them close as if that would give his energy back quicker. He swore he could hear them hum.

The Dementor came back after a while, with Rabastan in tow. He had showered, and found or conjured new robes.

"It didn't try to scare you, right? They have a fondness for that," Harry said. "Especially with George since he doesn't… didn't… like it."

"Well, it pushed me into the kitchen and seemed to be in a panic so I… cooked?"

"You can cook?"

"I lived with Bellatrix Lestrange and my brother; either I cooked, or I died by their poison. Here, toast and eggs, sausages as well. You need to go shopping. You don't have any house-elves?"

"No. At first I thought George had, but it turned out to be just him liking to yell things out loud. We never saw the point of getting any, when we could take care of ourselves."

"Yes, well, you need to go shopping now."

"It wasn't very high on my list yesterday."

Harry sat up, slower this time and Rabastan sat down on the bed, putting a tray down with two plates. Harry put the wands to the side, still close but leaving his hands free.

"I can't believe it's only been a day since George died," he continued. "It feels longer."

"The first night back in Azkaban," Rabastan said, "knowing my brother was dead… that was a long night. It never really goes away, but you learn to live with it."

"How?"

"Every person's different. I focused on remembering the good moments."

"Your brother had good moments?"

"Well, what I considered to be good moments. I can't say he was very sane or very kind," Rabastan admitted.

"Some would say the same about you," Harry pointed out.

"I can't say they would be lying, but my second stay in Azkaban probably improved my mental health."

"Really? How so?"

"That's because you were there and made the Dementors nicer. You liked me and since they like you, they were friendlier towards me."

Harry only nodded. He ate everything on his plate using his fingers only and once he was done the dizziness was gone, replaced by a heaviness that bordered on terrifying. He blinked blearily and began to list to one side, ending up leaning against the wall, too tired to even flop down on the bed.

"Can you tell them not to kill me for touching you?" Rabastan said. "Please? Potter?"

"Don't kill him," Harry muttered at a Dementor. "Alright?"

It fidgeted and then nodded. Rabastan took a hold of his shoulders and helped him lay down, pulling at him until he was in a more comfortable position. The wands remained with him.

"You need to rest. Sleep is good," Rabastan said.

"I need to kill the Order."

"Well, that can wait another day. Then I'll help you plan."

"You want that?"

"Potter, I'm a Death Eater. We're not exactly known for knitting scarves for poor orphans."

His words made Harry laugh until he passed out.

-o-

The magical world in the United Kingdom was in shock after realizing their hero, Harry James Potter, was responsible for the massive break-out at Azkaban, as well as the destruction of five villages and partially Aberdeen in Scotland.

Parents wrote to Albus, crying out that the young man couldn't have access to Hogwarts now could he? Were their children safe? What was Harry Potter going to do now? What would Albus do to protect their children from Harry Potter? Why hadn't he done something already?! The headmaster was getting a headache.

Not only that but Amelia Bones were on him too, but in a completely different light; she didn't trust him, and she blamed him for how Harry had turned out! Of course she would have Harry arrested if they apprehended the man but she would make damn sure that Albus Dumbledore couldn't do what he wanted.

Like killing Harry. The Order was banned from helping, the Minister stating they did more harm than good nowadays and that was what made Albus furious. They completely threw aside all the good things the Order had done during the last two wars, everyone who had sacrificed their lives for the sake of peace for the entire magical world.

Albus wasn't about to idly sit at the side and let it all happen. He would first make sure Harry Potter could not get onto the Hogwarts grounds, to protect the children of course, but then he would go after the young man.

Harry Potter could not be allowed to live.

More letters poured in and he felt like he was choking on them. The headmasters of old gazed down at him, not saying anything to help, only whispering to each other and laughing quietly. They apparently found his situation funny to witness.

Albus left his office for a moment and gathered the professors and of course, loyal Hagrid. He scheduled a day where they would improve on Hogwarts' wards to prevent Harry Potter from entering. Most of them expressed their disbelief that Harry had turned out to be so similar to Voldemort. Albus only agreed and stressed how important it was to quickly capture him again. He did not share with them his desire to just do away with the boy.

-o-

In the meantime, Harry went shopping. In Muggle London. In Muggle London he was a nobody amongst others, and could therefore shop in peace. He felt oddly light, and on several occasions he had to stop himself from humming. He had just lost his best friend and now he was humming whilst shopping?

He had truly gone insane. One Dementor trailed after him, making Muggles feel uncomfortable and cold. Harry took his time getting the food, and then went back to the house.

Rabastan had meanwhile must have gone out as he sat at the table with four new wands when Harry came into the kitchen.

"I'm guessing you didn't buy those," Harry said.

"No, I didn't. I don't know, it's hard to get one by chancing," he said as he checked each one. "Maybe I'll get a brand new one in Knockturn Alley. Or I'll go out of the country; I know places where they care less who you are and more that you can pay for what you ask for."

"So, as long as you have money, you're fine to them?"

"Exactly. The Dark Lord got a lot of shopping done out of the country, although he always preferred United Kingdom."

Harry put down the bags. "Voldemort, shopping? Wow; that's an image I never thought I'd have in my head. Why do I picture him with these nature-friendly canvas bags, fighting housewives for the last cereal box?"

"Because you have a sick mind, Potter. Yes, this one. This will do."

"What are you going to do with the rest of the wands?" Harry wondered.

"Throw 'em away?"

"Can I have them?"

Rabastan looked at Harry but he only smiled even as two Dementors hovered behind him.

"I can't take you seriously with that smile or those Dementors behind you."

"What?" Harry turned around. "What's so special about them?"

"They remind me of puppies. Not their looks, but their eagerness to follow you everywhere."

"Really? Can I still have the wands?"

"Sure, if you insist." Rabastan pushed them across the table and dragged a bag close. "What's all this?"

"Food?"

"What are these packages?"

"Food," Harry repeated.

"But…" Rabastan pulled out one. "What?"

"Oh, it's Muggle-made," he said. "Perfectly alright."

"Muggles put their food in packages like this?" Rabastan wanted to know. "_Why_?"

"Well, that's a can. It means the food will hold a while. Couple of years I think."

"A can? What's it made of?"

"Aluminium, I think. Don't ask me. My aunt hated cans. Said it wasn't good enough for her Dudders."

"Her what?" Rabastan said.

"Son. Dudley, she called him Dudders." Harry looked at the other bags. "I always had to do the shopping."

"Bringing up bad memories?"

"No, not really… I just really want to fry him. Dudley. Alive, preferably."

"Alright, that sounds fine. How do we open these… cans?"

"Oh, I bought the tool for that, don't worry."

Harry packed the food away and Rabastan helped. It was a comfortable silence they had shared many times during their time in Azkaban, complete with a Dementor or two hovering nearby. Rabastan was fascinated watching Harry open one of the cans, and insisted on tasting the food.

"It's fine," he said. "But still, why these?"

"As I said, it holds longer. Muggles like to stack up."

As they ate, Harry pulled out a parchment and began penning down names.

"What's that?"

"A list of people I want to kill," Harry replied.

"What, you need a list for that?"

"Oh, I'm just writing those who I really, _really _want to kill."

"Okay. You still need a list for that?"

"It's satisfying."

"Oh…" Rabastan glanced over. "That's a long list already."

"I have a lot of people I want to kill," Harry pointed out. "I'm evil now."

"Yeah, you are. Who should we start with?"

Tbc…

* * *

The first step has been taken by Harry to lead him into insanity. For those who question why George had to die, I will tell you this; his death is playing a rather crucial part in Harry becoming a man of nightmares in future chapters.

Chapter eight: The killing starts. Can anyone stop Harry?

Until later,

Tiro


	8. Chapter 8

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Violence is described here, just so you know. Not bad, but a little bit.

Enjoy reading.

-o-

**Chapter Eight**

The silence from Harry Potter after the partial destruction of Aberdeen was unsettling to the entire magical population in the United Kingdom. The Ministry tried to locate him, using George Weasley's name for any properties and even searching through the entire joke shop in Diagon Alley. They found nothing. The employees only knew that George was dead despite the fact no one would probably find his body.

The goblins could confirm the death though, by the fact his will had been unlocked, something that would only happen in the event of his death. They called in the people listed and all but Harry Potter showed up. A few unwanted ones turned up as well, namely some of George's family members. George gave the joke shop to his employees, and left the house and almost all his gold to Harry. The employees were given a share. Nothing was left to his family.

Both the Ministry and the Order tried to get George's address to the house from the goblins but they showed the will and there was no address listed.

In the end the Ministry's hunting gave no results; they couldn't find any house or even flat with George's name although it was known he had purchased a house. They wondered if he had bought it under a false name, which meant it would be impossible to find the house and through that, Harry himself.

Dumbledore was quite disappointed with the results. Amelia Bones wanted nothing to do with the Order, and so he wouldn't have anything to do with the Ministry. If he found Harry Potter first, he'd do away with the boy before alerting the Ministry. Amelia spoke of returning Harry to Azkaban, now with only human guards. Dumbledore scoffed at that. There was no need to keep Harry alive.

It would be a great loss to the magical world to lose the last Potter and their ancient blood, but Harry did this to himself. Had he only been patient and stayed at Azkaban Dumbledore would have arranged everything for him, including marriage to Ginny Weasley. Harry could have lived a calm, sheltered life like he always wanted to.

However, he could plan Harry's death as much as he wanted but if he couldn't find where Harry was all this planning would be quite pointless. Dumbledore sent out Order members when they had time to scout remote houses, see if they saw Harry. If not, they would look for Dementors, seeing as they could lead the Order to Harry. Dumbledore hoped Amelia hadn't caught up on that and advised the Aurors to look for Dementors to find Harry.

-o-

It was a crisp October morning and Ginny was alone in the house. Her father and brothers were out; Ron had moved out with Hermione, both of them opting to live closer to London with their two children. She didn't want to be alone though, and fire-called around. Luna and Neville were free, and soon came over to keep her company.

Ginny had been rather depressed ever since Harry got out. For one, he never once looked at her. Also, his words sent her mother to Azkaban and then being responsible for Molly's death because in Ginny's mind there was no doubt he caused her death. Not only that, George's definitive death due to the release of his will was devastating. Despite him being on Harry's side, Ginny would miss him dearly.

So now Ginny cursed Harry's name, blaming George's death on him as well. If only he hadn't drawn George to him, then George would be alive right now. To think the boy she loved for so long was such a horrible, _horrible _person!

Neville and Luna were godsend, spending a lot of time with her after Harry had been put in Azkaban, and helping her feeling light about the future. Professor Dumbledore spoke to her numerous times, and of course Harry would come out from Azkaban one day and he would absolutely be in love with her, naturally.

Nothing of the sort when he did come out, and now Ginny didn't want him. He wasn't famous for anything good anymore, only infamous for all the deaths he caused. She didn't want to be associated with that.

She made tea for Neville and Luna when they arrived, and they were talking about their time in school, carefully not mentioning Harry at all, and spent a good hour making themselves feeling better. This was when the door splintered, flying off its hinges and slamming into the wall. They were all up, wands in hands and ready to fight. What they saw was Harry, dressed in black robes. Between that and his hair the skin looked white in comparison. He was also without his glasses.

Safe to say, he looked nothing like the hero he once had been in her eyes.

"Hello," he said with a cheerful tone. "I was just going to have a chat with Ginny but I suppose you don't want me to?"

"Go away," Neville spat out, wand aimed at Harry's chest.

"We don't want you here," Luna continued.

"Too bad; I don't care."

He raised his arms, and they all focused on Voldemort's wand that they didn't even get a shield up before the magic exploded out. Ginny was slung backwards into a wall, Luna thrown to the stairs and knocked out, and Neville against the table, also knocking him out. Ginny however stayed awake and didn't get far before Harry was there, boot pressed against her neck, her wand wrenched from her hand.

Cold came in, too cold, and she whimpered when she saw Dementors coming inside the house, their rough breathing enough to send shivers down her spine. She forced herself to focus on Harry only and said in desperation:

"Harry, it's me! It's Ginny!"

"Yes, I can see that," Harry replied.

"You can't kill me."

"Why not?" He tilted his head, watching her.

"Because you love me!" she tried with.

"Do I now?" Harry asked. "You know, I can't recall that I do. Once perhaps, definitely not now."

"No. You still love me." _I have to try that, I have to…!_

"Is that what Albus told you? Or did you believe I'd love someone who let me rot in Azkaban? No, I don't love you. George however, I loved him. With everything I was, and had. If Albus hadn't killed him, I wouldn't be doing this."

"What? No, Albus didn't… he didn't kill George."

"He did, and you know it. Everyone does. I've seen the papers."

"The papers are lying!" she screamed. "You killed him!"

"I was there, Ginny, and Albus Dumbledore was the one to kill George."

"No, that's not true, you killed George!"

"I'm not going to keep arguing with you about that. Tell me where Fred is."

"What?"

He pressed harder against her throat.

"Tell me where Fred is," he repeated. "His grave."

"Why?" she gasped, clawing at his boot, his leg.

"Because I'm telling you, to tell me," he replied and smiled a wide, sick smile that made her wail. "Oh, come on Ginny, just tell me."

"No!"

"No? Oh well… guess you wouldn't. Still loyal to family, even if it's just to a grave. Well then, I guess I just have to try out Legilimens. I've been training but there only so much one can do with a willing person. You however, you are going to die either way so I don't need to hold back with you."

She felt a press against her mind, and then Harry dug in. Ginny screamed. It felt as if pieces of glass were digging into her eyes, and her nerves began to burn. She tried to look away but couldn't. Harry let her go but she stayed down, and he kneeled over her, keeping her arms locked to her sides. Her thoughts were pried apart, shredded, her memories ripped from their roots of happy childhood and great sorrow over losing a brother.

The funeral was grand, George was there but he didn't stand with the family. Ginny felt Harry's assault on her mind stopping for a bit, and she could almost imagine him looking at George with… sadness? No, this was Harry Potter the killer, not Harry Potter the saviour; he didn't feel sadness. He was just a horrible person that deserved to die for what he had done to her mother, to her, to all the people he had killed.

"I see," Harry murmured a few minutes later. Ginny was panting, sweating, crying as she tried to recover from his Legilimens. "I know where he is now, thanks for sharing, Gin. Are you still with me?"

Her head had been cracked open. She felt like it had anyway. She rolled away from Harry when he stood up. When that wasn't good enough, she curled up like a ball and he laughed.

Then…

"_Crucio_."

She howled this time, loud enough to rouse Neville. Luna still lay motionless near the stairs. Neville screamed and charged at Harry instead of attacking him with a spell. Ginny couldn't see, heard them scuffle around on the floor and then there was a thud of something hiding the floor and a painful cry from Neville. Ginny rolled over her head to see.

An arm clutching a wand. Neville's arm. The Cruciatus curse had lifted as Harry dealt with Neville but Ginny lay twitching on the floor and could only see blood at first. Then she managed to move her eyes and found the two, Neville still fighting despite only having one arm left. They fell down, another flash of Voldemort's wand and a single spell. Neville lay still after that.

Harry panted as he sat up and looked at her. There was blood on his face.

"I always liked Neville," he told her. "He was… just so… _Neville _I suppose. Never judging me. Well, never judging me until I went to Azkaban. And Luna too. She stood by my side even when most people considered me a freak."

"Then why… did you kill him?" Ginny asked, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Because he's in the way," Harry said.

"Of _what_?"

"I don't know. Oh, I think Luna is coming around. Can't have that, can we?"

"Nooo…"

Ginny rolled over to her stomach, stretching out her hand, trying to do something but could only watch as Harry walked over to the still groggy Luna. He went behind her, took a hold of her head and twisted it, hard. Luna went slack in his hands and Ginny screamed.

"Takes care of her then…" Harry murmured and put Luna down. He wasted time by moving her to a move natural position, and then kneeled down. Ginny could barely see through the tears, anger and sorrow mixing inside of her. Harry looking down at a friend he once valued with nothing more but mild interest whilst being covered in Neville's blood. Harry took Luna's wand and pocketed it.

Ginny moved as he stayed still, distracted, by Luna's corpse. Adrenaline made her able to get up and run out of the house. The cold of the Dementors didn't let her get far though and she saw the whole house was surrounded by them.

"No," she moaned, got her knees, fell down again. "No!"

Harry grabbed her legs from behind and dragged her into the house. A Dementor came closer and Ginny felt the cold, felt joy and happiness leave her until the foul mouth was close to her own.

"Oh, alright then," she heard Harry say. "Take her."

Ginny began to scream when the Dementor's mouth clamped over her jaws. For one single moment she saw something, a gate in an ever-lasting darkness. Her ears were filled with the screams of tortured souls, and then…

Nothing.

-o-

The Weasleys returned to a destroyed home. The door had been blasted off its hinges and Ginny laid in the doorway, eyes open, foam at her mouth, her body alive but the soul forever gone. Neville was further inside, torn apart, blood everywhere and lastly Luna, broken neck by the stairs, eyes closed. Their wands were all missing.

The magic residue left behind was Harry's, and it led from the house. Order members tracked it to the nearby graveyard where they discovered to their horror that Fred Weasley's grave had been dug up, the corpse removed. Harry's magic vanished there and obviously, he had taken the corpse with him.

Albus saw the destruction first-hand. He gazed down mournfully at Ginny, still alive but her mind and soul taken by evil. Arthur refused to have her body killed. He had lost too much already. She was to be taken to St Mungo's despite the fact no victim of a Dementor had ever been rescued.

This was a disaster, Albus realized. Harry wasn't hesitating to kill those who once were close friends. He suggested that Ron and Hermione should go into hiding, for the sake of their children and themselves. The two agreed, both in tears over what had happened.

"He needs to go," Ron said. "Harry. He needs to die."

"Yes, he does," Albus said. One by one, perhaps, the Order would come around and see nothing wrong with killing Harry Potter.

"I don't care that he's the last Potter. The world is better off if he dies; the sooner the better."

That's exactly the mindset Albus needed the Order to be in.

"The Ministry cannot be trusted," he said gravely to Ron. "They don't understand how dangerous Harry is. They must not be alerted to what we are doing."

"Of course," Ron said. "But what about Ginny? They'll see at St Mungo's that something's wrong."

"Let me speak to Arthur about that, we'll come up with something."

The Ministry would perhaps be alerted to this incident later, but for now, no one would know. Albus made sure they erased Harry's magical signal and put the earth back on Fred's empty grave. Killing close friends and digging up a corpse… the boy was truly lost. He needed to be gone.

-o-

Harry meanwhile just finished putting the earth back on George's grave, having put the twins side by side in the ground. There was a stone that marked the grave, and he now began to carve a G and F there. He'd know what that meant.

Then he sat still for a little while. He had killed three people he once trusted. Luna who stood by his side, with her Butterbeer cork necklace and habit of tucking her wand behind her ear. Yet there was nothing to say now, despite the fact he held her head in his hands and then broke her neck, like she was just an animal he put down.

He was the animal out of the two. A predator perhaps? A crazy predator. He shook his head and walked into the house. Rabastan was in the kitchen and looked him over when he came in.

"I would ask where you've been Potter, but I don't think I need to ask."

"Oh, just you know, the usual stuff. Killing people, stealing a corpse… your everyday task."

"Ah, yes, your everyday task."

Harry walked over to the sink to clean off his hands from Neville's blood and the dirt from digging up two graves. Rabastan continued to eat behind him for a little while before he said:

"Have you ever thought about having kids?"

"What brought that up?" Harry asked.

"Just wondering."

"For your information, the only one I ever thought about marrying once upon a time was Ginny Weasley and I just let a Dementor suck out her soul. What do you think?"

"Getting married, and having kids, those two are completely different things."

"Well… I guess you _do _have a point there," Harry admitted and unbuttoned his dirty robe, letting it fall to the floor, leaving him in shirt and pants. "I never got that far in my thought process before I ended up in Azkaban. I mean, I seriously thought Voldemort would kill me, and once I was in prison all I focused on was getting out alive with my sanity relatively intact. I appear to have only been moderately successful on that front."

"So, never kids?"

"I don't think I like kids very much anyway."

"You've been a child yourself."

"Yes, and I grew up with one I would cheerfully murder right about now if given the chance." Harry scrubbed under his nails. "Damn, flesh is hard to get out from underneath the nails…"

"Scrub harder," Rabastan instructed. "It'll go away eventually."

"Plus, I think about Hermione and Ron's kid. Kids. I don't know if she's given birth yet… anyway, getting off topic. I think about those two kids, and I wouldn't mind tearing them apart just like I did with Neville, and I tore Neville apart while still liking him."

"That's cold, Potter. Pure cold."

"Frightened yet?"

"Oh, no, I love it," Rabastan said with a grin. "My brother didn't want kids either, and got his will through due to his marriage to Bellatrix. She was too busy having a crush on our lord to have sex with Rodolphus."

"He was the oldest, right? Wasn't it his duty to bring offspring into the family?"

"As if he cared about that," Rabastan said. "Anyway, we do have kids… somewhere. And before you ask, no, we didn't rape any women. I may be insane, but I ain't going to disrespect a woman that way."

"Death Eaters having morals… that sounds weird. Wait, did you say Bellatrix was having a _crush _on Voldemort? She had an actual crushon one of the craziest people to have ever walked this planet?"

"Yes, well, she was crazy too."

"And Voldemort? What did he say?"

"I'm not even sure he acknowledged her. The lord wasn't exactly the man to gossip."

"I wish I could have seen that," Harry said as he finally began to dry off his now clean hands. "The look on his face… I mean, I saw that she respected him but not that she was that invested in him… now, what should I do with the robe?"

"Try cleaning it, if it's too bloody throw it away."

The window opened up and one Dementor floated inside, then another one.

"I'm getting a fire started," Rabastan said and got up. "Why can't they generate heat?"

"Because that would make them more appealing, maybe," Harry replied, reaching out a hand to one of the Dementors. "They're supposed to be one of the foulest creatures on earth."

"Well, they're certainly living up to it."

"I'll make us some lunch. Can you light a fire in my room as well?"

"Sure."

Harry watched the man leave and then looked down at the robe. Neville's blood, maybe some of Ginny's. He sniffed at the fabric, smelt the blood and for a moment considered licking it.

"What the hell…" he muttered, and did.

Nothing special. Just blood. A coppery taste that stayed on, mingling with the saliva. He shrugged and tossed the robe to one Dementor.

"Put it in the hamper, please."

He decided to make a salad. Some meat too? Or well, they had beans. He wanted beans rather. Rabastan could cook meat if he wanted to have it.

-o-

Shacklebolt was patrolling Diagon Alley under the guise that he was merely taking a long lunch-hour to have a stroll. The Ministry was a slow-moving machine and while posters of Harry Potter had been put up, they were from when he was seventeen; they hadn't even bothered trying to find a more recent image of him.

And that was all. They didn't actively hunt for the damn boy, which goes to show the Ministry wasn't going to catch him. Albus was far more efficient. He sent out Order members regularly to watch out for Harry Potter, and to bring him in. They wouldn't make a mistake trying to kill him in public again, where he could survive by accident. No, they would capture him and deal with him away from the public eye.

Shacklebolt's gaze was drawn to a young man exiting a clothes shop, and he stopped for a moment as he realized it was Potter. Coincidence, or perhaps a sign from fate? Shacklebolt didn't care of which; he had Potter in his sight!

He was a changed man. Where Potter once would have walked with his head down, now he held his head high, scar gone along with no glasses, a hairstyle similar to Lucius Malfoy some years back, when the Ministry followed his every move. Potter's new style didn't fit the new Ministry, and people moved away from him, perhaps not recognizing his face but taking his dark clothes as a sign of ill will.

Potter moved to a smaller alley, and Shacklebolt sent a Patronus to Tonks, alerting her so she could alert Albus, before following Potter. Perfect if it was in one of the side-alleys people rarely used anymore; they were dark and isolated, and people's shouts and calls didn't reach the main street.

It was a golden opportunity, truly a sign of fate; Potter turned into one of those side-alleys and Shacklebolt followed quickly. But once he walked into the alley he was thrown up against the wall, a rotten hand over his mouth. Harry stepped closer and Dementors moved with him, two of them holding Shacklebolt immobile.

"Hello," Harry said. "You were rather good at hiding your presence but that first moment, when you recognized me, blew the rest of it. I would say you should think of that next time, but… there won't be a next time."

Shacklebolt struggled against the Dementors. Instead they held on stronger and one wrenched Shacklebolt's wand out of his hand and handed it to Harry as it was a gift.

"Thank you," Harry said and smiled at the Dementor.

Those foul creatures who only followed Voldemort when promised carnage and chaos, millions of Muggles to feed on… they wouldn't be with Harry if they desired the same thing from him as they did from the now deceased Dark Lord.

Shacklebolt stared at the Dementors, at Harry. Those beings didn't just listen to Harry; they _respected _him.

"The Order is on its way, right?" Harry said. "I ought to hurry up then. A Dementor's Kiss would be quick to deal with you…"

Shacklebolt shook his head frantically, trying to get away from the Dementors despite being surrounded by them.

"Now, now, I said it _would_ be quick," Harry told him. "I never said I _wanted_ it to be quick."

Shacklebolt screamed behind the rotten hand.

-o-

This time the Ministry was involved since Shacklebolt was an Auror, and a well-respected one at that. The man lay in an isolated part of Diagon Alley, or rather, for now they assumed all of him was there.

He had been torn to pieces, blood splatter on the walls and the ground. Amelia watched the scene, face blank, mind racing. There was no magic trace left behind as to who had attacked and murdered Shacklebolt but she would put her money on any of the escaped Azkaban prisoners or Merlin forbid, Harry Potter.

She was ashamed to have not acted earlier to get Harry out. It was just that she had barely gotten comfortable in her new position when she was starting to hear things such as Harry Potter sitting in Azkaban without having received a trial. Amelia had assumed he was hiding from the public. Foolish now, when she thought back about it. She should've demanded to know where he was the first week, take him out of the prison and protect him from Albus Dumbledore and his Order.

For not doing so she couldn't forgive herself but if Harry was responsible for this, she wouldn't show him any special treatment just because he was locked up for no reason. Murder was not allowed under her watchful eye, and those who broke those laws had to face the consequences.

Amelia wondered if he was planning the breakout at Azkaban when she handed over the wands to him. When George hugged him and took him home. Or was it the result of George's death? No one had any confirmation that the redhead had actually died, since Harry Apparated away with him but she had seen memories of that attack; the wounds were too deep for even the most skilled healers in England. George had probably bled out in minutes.

Died protecting Harry one final time against Albus Dumbledore. She didn't know Albus' reason to try and kill Harry Potter, but since no one was willing to prosecute Albus Dumbledore or even tell under oath they saw him try to kill Potter she had no other choice but to let him go free.

She looked over at Tonks, Shacklebolt's partner. It was a known fact they were both in the Order. The moment Tonks left, would she run to Albus and tell? Of course she would. To the Order, Albus Dumbledore was the light guiding them out of the darkness, and he had been that figure for decades.

"Minister?"

"Treat him with respect," she ordered the Auror that had stopped next to her. "That's the least he deserves, even in death."

"Of course, Minister."

"I want a copy of all the reports. Increase the search for the missing prisoners and Harry Potter, and have them brought alive to the Ministry holding cells."

"Alive?"

"Yes, alive and in one piece."

She left.

-o-

The Order had no intention of staying out of this. Shacklebolt was one of their finest, and he deserved retribution. Tonks was all for chasing Harry down and killing him herself. None of the compassion she had once had for him was left.

Albus Dumbledore was satisfied with the new attitude everyone was taking. It meant he could speak freely of what options they had to kill him. It had been a mistake to try and kill him in public, but back then Albus had thought him to be Voldemort and killing him in public had been the most logical and sound choice.

Killing Harry Potter however could be done in any way, and more than gladly away from the public. It was for the best if Harry Potter became nothing more than a nightmare that vanished. Then perhaps his corpse could be found, looking like the poor boy killed himself. The public's fear could be put to rest and life could go on.

Albus mourned Shacklebolt's passing. The man had been a good friend, a loyal one. Not once had he strayed from Albus' wishes, and it angered the headmaster that Harry Potter, for it was none other than Potter who took Shacklebolt's life, had gotten the upper hand of such an experienced Auror. It must have been a trap.

Then they would trap Harry in return; give him a taste of his own medicine. Albus cautioned all Order members that they were not to go anywhere alone unless they were at work. He still posted an Order member near the joke shop, despite the fact it was handled now solely by George's employees. No one had seen Harry close to the shop since that day. Obviously he had been in Diagon Alley but people still hadn't seen him.

-o-

Rabastan whistled as he read the Daily Prophet. He put it down and looked over at Harry who was attempting to make a potion.

"Shacklebolt, ey? Please tell me it was painful for him."

"What, did they skip the details?" Harry wondered.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact they did. That meant it was bloody?"

"Well, let's just say it probably took them a while to gather everything up. I'm afraid I left him all over the place."

Rabastan laughed and slammed his hand to the table.

"Oh, you're more entertaining than I ever thought you could be, Potter!"

"I'm flattered."

"So, who's next?"

"All in due time, Rabastan. All in due time… now help me with this before it explodes in my face and professor Snape can laugh at me from the other side."

"Reckon he'd show up just to laugh at you?" Rabastan asked, holding a bottle that Harry had thrust into his hands.

"No. He'll probably just let his laughter echo around the room before fading away, the bastard. Oh, that reminds me; I need to go to Hogwarts for a bit."

"You do realize that's impossible for you?"

"I just need to pick something up in the Forbidden Forest. It's mine anyway."

"What about the centaurs?"

"Not my problem."

"They live in the forest, Potter," Rabastan replied.

"Well then, I'll kill those who try to stop me."

-o-

They didn't try to stop him. Harry found it ridiculously easy sneaking into the Forbidden Forest and he had to be inside the wards of Hogwarts so why wasn't anyone coming? He thought for sure he'd be banned from the castle grounds, or that someone would be alerted that he had breached the wards.

But here he was, in the dark, searching for a stone that wasn't all that big. Great. He knew the centaurs were there, he heard them but they kept to the shadows and as long as they did that, he was ready to leave them alone.

Aha! Harry saw something glimmer and went back. He couldn't believe his luck; over three years and it was still there! He picked it up, the Resurrection Stone sitting nicely in his palm. He didn't think of anyone. He didn't want to see them, not now. Perhaps George later, and Fred. Definitely not his parents. He was evil now, or what they would see as evil. Harry wasn't prepared to see the hatred in their eyes on top of everything else.

So he put the stone in his pocket, bid farewell to the centaurs, and left.

Within two hours, people still found out that Harry Potter had gotten through the wards of Hogwarts with no troubles at all, and hell broke loose. Parents screamed their terror to Albus, swarming his office with letters and howlers as Harry Potter was the new evil, the new nightmare in their lives and _how could you allow such a dangerous thing where our children are?_

The Ministry came and reinforced the wards along with the professors. Amelia and Albus did not speak to each other but then tension made the rest uncomfortable.

The public didn't know who to blame; Amelia for releasing Harry Potter, or Albus for putting him away in the first place. Amelia got ahead of Albus by giving an interview where she spoke of three years in Azkaban, abandoned by all those who knew him save one, that turned Harry Potter into a shadow of his former self. The presumed death of his friend George Weasley most likely triggered his current behaviour.

But even with the interview the public were foaming at the mouth, demanding actions, demanding deaths. What was done about the escaped prisoners? What was done to find Harry Potter? Would he simply go back to Azkaban?

What about the Dementors? No sightings had been made of those horrid creatures after the chaos in Aberdeen, but not a single one could be found within Azkaban. What should the public do to protect their families against the Dementors, against the prisoners, against Harry Potter?

Rita Skeeter started publishing articles of how his tragic childhood was partly to blame. Others followed in her wake, sprouting more and more outrageous theories of why Harry Potter had turned evil.

At the sideline of all this chaos was Harry Potter himself, reading the newspaper and marvelling at how much crap the magical world could still come up with when it came to him. He remained in the shadows, watching and listening to the magical world of United Kingdom going mad.

"You're enjoying this," Rabastan told him as they stood listening to a group of witches.

"Why not? They're all in a tizzy because of little me," Harry replied with. "Who to kill next?"

"Why not Dumbledore and be done with it?"

"No… I want him to suffer. I want those who knew me the best to suffer the most. But I have a list of Order members. Pick one you want."

Rabastan was given a parchment. It was filled with names, some he knew, some he didn't.

"Dumbledore started a new recruitment while I was locked up," Harry explained. "I found the list in George's bedroom; he was keeping track of them, so he'd always know if it was an Order member who came to the shop."

"Clever Weasley. Him; he's old school, an annoying one. Kept calling my brother brainless." Harry looked at him. Rabastan shrugged. "Hey, I care about that too. My brother wasn't the smartest person alive, but he was no idiot."

"Alright. We'll do it."

The game was on.

Tbc…

* * *

Another chapter done, and Harry are getting madder by the minute!

Chapter nine: The killing leads to the Order hiding, but Harry isn't afraid to play some hide and seek with them.

Until later,

Tiro


	9. Chapter 9

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Shorter chapter than usual, I just haven't had the energy or time. Read and enjoy.

Violence is described here.

-o-

**Chapter Nine**

Barely two months after the death of Shacklebolt Kingsley, and Albus urged every Order member to go into hiding. So far twelve more had been killed in the same gruesome manner as Shacklebolt and they were no closer to capture Potter, who now had begun to leave magical traces on the scene, either not caring or wanting to make sure they knew he'd committed those murders.

The Weasleys abandoned their home and spread out in safe houses. Ginny's body was still at St Mungo's but Arthur believed she was safest there; Potter wouldn't be stupid enough to attack an entire hospital filled with wizards and witches.

Albus was safe at Hogwarts for the time being due to new wards aimed specifically at not letting Harry Potter inside the grounds, and offered safety to some of the Order members inside the school. While the students were aware of events outside, they didn't mind the presence of adults, some actually feeling safer when they saw an Order member.

While this all happened, Albus vented his anger at the walls of his office, all of his frustration at the boy who was supposed to have died trying to kill Voldemort. Everything had gone wrong after that. Potter had slipped between his fingers, become something Albus hadn't calculated, and apparently had it in him to torture people just as much as Voldemort did.

Twelve people, thirteen counting Shacklebolt, had to put their lives down for that bloody boy. Would he stop now, when they hid? Would he make a mistake? Albus didn't dare having Order members posted outside in public too often and therefore he had no other choice but to rely on the Ministry.

Amelia Bones had however seen the direness in the situation and ordered a search throughout the entire country, looking for Harry Potter. If they encountered wards hiding a property and they couldn't find the owners, the Aurors had been ordered to tear down the wards. Potter's house had to be somewhere.

Dumbledore wanted to search for the house himself, but everyone urged him to stay safe, he was the most important member, he couldn't risk his life like that. Albus conceded to that but urged outmost caution in turn; that they were not to risk their own safety. He realized he wouldn't be travelling much beside to the Ministry, a place Harry never could be so foolish to try and attack.

The faster they found the boy and got rid of him, the better.

-o-

Harry didn't like people who went into hiding when he wanted to kill them. It was rather rude of them to do that. However, he wasn't that surprised. He was just surprised it had taken them two months to realize that it would be safer to them to hide. Like, shouldn't they have realized that when he killed Shacklebolt?

Still, it meant he now had no idea where anyone of them was.

"Damn…" he said and Rabastan looked up from his breakfast. "I should've at least kill Hermione and Ron. Just one of them had been fine. Now I have to search for them. Maybe they even went to another _country_…"

"Use the Dementors," Rabastan suggested. "I'm sure they'll be thrilled to help and with winter coming their cold won't be noticed as much."

"Yeah, I suppose…" Harry looked out the window. "You know, I never got to celebrate Christmas with George in this house."

"What, you didn't like the Christmas pudding at Azkaban?" Rabastan asked. Harry looked at him and Rabastan grinned. "Bit dry, wasn't it?"

"And mouldy. Let's not forget mouldy. George wouldn't have given me mouldy Christmas pudding."

"I'm sorry you didn't get to celebrate with him. He's the only reasonable Weasley I've ever met. Then again, I didn't really meet many of them."

"Well, I don't know about Bill and Charlie," Harry said. "They seemed… different than the others. Bit more rebellious. I don't know, maybe they hate me too now, I mean, I'm responsible for basically two deaths, and I dug up Fred's corpse."

"Yeah, you might not be on their favourite-people list," Rabastan agreed. "But maybe they're smart enough not to oppose you in the end."

"You make it sound like I'm scary."

"You are scary, Potter."

"No, I'm not."

"Don't even try to deny it. You basically rule over the Dementors, how much scarier can you get than that?"

Harry picked up his mug of tea, and then said:

"Does it mean I'm scarier than Voldemort?"

"Hmm, give it a few years and we'll see."

"Aaw, you make it sound like you want to hang around!"

"Yeah, don't get used to hearing that, Potter. So, you're gonna look for the rest of them?"

"Of course I will!" Harry said. "I've hardly even begun!"

"… How come you don't realize you're scary?"

Harry blinked. Rabastan rolled his eyes and continued:

"Play innocent if you wish to, but you ain't fooling me. Who's first?"

"I don't know yet. I keep thinking Ron and Hermione, but it would be even funnier if I killed some more of Ron's family…"

"Again, how come you don't realize that you are scary?"

-o-

It wasn't very easy to find them. Harry had to admit he got bored as well, and frequently gave up to do something else that caught his fancy. But sooner or later this need to cause them pain and suffering, create chaos and disrupt the fragile peace reared its ugly head and he'd go into a frenzy searching for the Order members.

The Dementors moved throughout the country, bringing back news. They found some Order members, but it was harder to find the ones Harry truly wanted to kill.

What he suspected but could never be sure of was that the Order was planning to capture him, but one visit to Diagon Alley proved to be a disaster.

Either the Order members decided a daytrip to the alley for a bit of sightseeing was the perfect way to spend their time or he had walked right into a trap. Harry suspected the latter as he ducted underneath an arm, moving quickly through the thick crowds with a hood over his head.

It wouldn't hold up for long, not with this many Order members crawling around. If he killed one, five would be ready to attack him.

There were several alleys he could sneak into, quiet and dark alleys but there were too many people or a bloody Order member was posted there. When he saw McGonagall at the last one, he cursed his luck that he hadn't tried any of the earlier ones. Last thing he wanted to do was to try and fight his way out of there against his former professor.

He could try and Apparate out, like he did when George was killed but saw that as the last option, as he wasn't sure he could pull it off again.

A hand grabbed his arm and pulled him away from McGonagall and into an alley he had passed earlier. Just when Harry was about to protest, he saw Draco's pale face before the young man pressed them both into the shadows.

They stayed quiet, Draco watching the street, Harry watching Draco. After a few minutes Draco beckoned him deeper into the alley, and through twists and turns the young Malfoy led him to Knockturn Alley where people didn't look at them and there wasn't an Order member in sight. What, did they think the darkness of the alley would catch on, like a disease?

"Malfoy," Harry finally said. "What are you doing?"

"I have no idea," Draco confessed, "but I think you didn't want to get caught."

Draco, his school enemy… Harry couldn't hate him. What was there left to hate? Harry was ready to admit that if given the chance now he probably would've worked together with Voldemort instead of against him. That much change in his own character made their rivalry at school seem rather petty.

Yes, Draco had been a git. He probably still was. He wasn't kind, he just admitted to not knowing what he was doing, saving Harry now; he probably had an ulterior move, just not aware of it yet.

Harry didn't mind. As long as he was aware of someone wanting to use him, it was alright.

Draco led the way until they could Apparate out. Harry hesitated only for a moment before grasping Draco's arm and allowing him to Apparate Harry with him. They landed outside the gates to Malfoy Manor and Draco pushed it open.

"You aren't keyed into the wards," the blond explained as they walked up to the house.

"Makes sense."

Harry was aware that Draco kept glancing at him. He didn't mind. Draco walked up to the double doors and pulled them open, inviting Harry inside.

"Does it freak you out, being here?" Draco wondered as they came into the entrance hall.

"What do you mean?"

"Granger was tortured here?"

"Hermione can burn at the stake for all I care. No, wait… forget that, that would mean I wouldn't get to torture her myself."

Draco stared at him.

"What?" Harry said. "By the way, I think almost all the rumours you've heard about me _this _time is true. As long as they said I'm a crazy killer. Because I am. I like it. It's fun; Rabastan even helps out."

"Rabastan Lestrange?"

"Yeah, I broke him out of Azkaban! Him, and others. I also took the Dementors with me."

Draco stared some more.

"There's something wrong with you, Potter," he summed it up finally. "Tea?"

"Yes, please."

-o-

Lucius was withdrawn and silent but Narcissa made pleasant small talk and when Harry talked about torturing Hermione again she said:

"Well, I'm not the expert but I believe pulling out the nails is quite effective."

"Right. Yes, I have heard it's good. I'll have to try it then."

"I must say, Mr Potter, you've changed a great deal since I last saw you."

"Last time you saw me Mrs Malfoy, I was a moron. I'd like to believe I'm not quite as much of a moron now," Harry replied. "Of course, had a bit of relapse today but luckily your son was there to save the day. Or my neck. Most likely my neck."

"I heard Rabastan was with you?"

"Yes, he lives with me. But it's alright, he buys groceries from time to time."

"With whose money?" she wondered.

"With all due respect, Mrs Malfoy, you probably don't want to know with whose money."

Lucius finally looked at him. Harry didn't look away.

"The Dark Lord would've liked this you," he finally said.

"Oh, I don't know Mr Malfoy; did he ever like anyone? Perhaps he wouldn't torture me death, but it's too late to see if that's true."

He didn't mention that was his fault, and none of the Malfoys brought it up.

Harry ended up staying the night, and something must have happened because in the morning Lucius met him alone, and said he offered his services.

"It's not much now," Lucius confessed, "but whatever you need; if it's in my power I will help you."

"Not that I don't appreciate that, but why?" Harry wondered.

"You're different from before. I'm different as well. Shall we leave it at that?"

Malfoys apparently didn't discuss deep things with people outside the family. Harry did as Lucius said and left it at that, and asked him for help to find Order members and Dumbledore supporters.

"The supporters are easy to find, they're all over the place nowadays," Lucius said with a sneer. "Order members are a bit trickier. When they move, they move in groups."

"I want to know where they live," Harry said. "I want to go into their homes and take away their feeling of safety."

Lucius watched him for a bit.

"As I said yesterday, Mr Potter; the Dark Lord would've liked this you."

-o-

Rabastan wasn't that surprised when Harry came home and told him about what happened, including what Lucius had said.

"Lucius will do anything to stay safe," Rabastan said.

"Safest would be with the Ministry, right?"

"Potter, you're wrecking havoc on the Ministry's nerves, and the Order. Lucius obviously thinks you'll win over them."

"What does he want from me?"

"Just leave his family alone, and if you really want him on your side, protect his wife and son. Malfoys are said to be one of the most arrogant families in our society…"

"Well, Draco certainly lived up to it…"

"I wouldn't know, but I know Lucius did. However, in the end, they do love each other. More than they ever let the Light know. Bellatrix thought it was disgusting how Lucius and Narcissa would care for Draco." Rabastan rose up. "But then again, Bellatrix was never cut out to be a parent."

Harry decided to go along with it for now. He saw no reason why the Malfoys would sell him out to the Order, or the Ministry. They could have done so while he slept; there hadn't been any Dementors around, just him and a big, moody room with way too many ornate vases.

After that he got more careful about moving around in the open, and generally let himself be stalked by the Dementors. Rabastan came and went but mostly stayed near the house.

Percy Weasley became the first one after the Order members had gone into hiding. It was surprisingly enough Narcissa that managed to get a hold of Percy's location, and shared it with Harry over tea and scones.

"I have ears," she explained, "and can remain unseen if I wish."

"I find that kind of hard to believe. I mean, Malfoys, don't they generally rule the space they're in?"

"Oh, but I was a Black before that. We had some sense of hiding in the shadows," she told him. "How are you going to do it?"

"Well, I want it known. Like, really known so the Order members in deep hiding know what happened. First page on the Daily Prophet, in the mouths of everyone!"

"How about in the Ministry?" Lucius asked.

"What do you mean?" Harry wondered.

"You kill him and dispose of the body in the Ministry, perhaps in the atrium. During the night, there's hardly anyone there despite everything that's happening now, and I know ways to get inside undetected."

"You mean from before, when Voldemort ruled the place?"

"Last time I used such an exit was yesterday, Mr Potter; I'm quite sure they still work."

Lucius conjured a piece of paper and drew on it a map on how to get in and out. Harry then left, alone to think up a method to kill Percy with, and how to display the body. He wanted it to be really, really bold. Maybe leave a note behind; just to be sure everyone knew he'd done it. There could be no hesitation about who it was; everyone had to know Harry Potter killed Percy Weasley and displayed his corpse in the Ministry.

Two weeks later, Harry set his plan in motion.

He began by going to where Percy lived of course, and watched the man from the outside. Percy looked relaxed and as happy as he could be considering the circumstances, and that's what Harry wanted. Think you're safe… until you weren't.

Capturing Percy had been so easy Harry almost wanted to cry. No challenge, no nothing, just a lot of screaming at Harry once Percy had been tied up.

"You monster!" Percy howled as Harry walked around in the house, exploring, Percy's wand in his pocket. Other trinkets joined it. "You bloody freak, just wait until I get loose!"

"Oh, don't worry," Harry said as he popped his head into the room where he had left Percy. "You won't. I must say, cosy little place you got here. Makes my fingers itch to burn it up."

"We should have killed you the night you killed Voldemort," Percy hissed.

"Yes… you really should have. Tongue or fingers?"

Percy glared at him.

"Silence won't help, that means I'll choose for you," Harry said. "I don't know if you want that."

He sat down next to Percy, leaned in closer. Percy spit him in the face. Harry sighed and cleaned it off.

"Should've expected that," he muttered, "I really should. Tongue then."

Percy tried to fight him off, tried to bite him and kick him and Harry decided not to do it with magic. He went to the kitchen, heard the thumps as Percy tried to get away but with most of his body bound, the best he could do was wiggle a lot. Harry tapped his fingers over the knives and selected a blunt one.

"Might as well make it very painful," he mused and went back to Percy. "Lookie here, Percie, I found this really not sharp knife! What should I do with it?"

"Nononono…"

"Oh, yes, I should try it out on your tongue!"

It was sloppy work and Harry ended up with a lot of blood on his hands and clothes but in the end he got the tongue out. He threw it over his shoulder and watched Percy for a while, his gurgling screams and blood running out on the floor.

Should he feel something? Perfect Percy, proper Percy… Harry had liked him once upon a time. But once upon a time was also a long time ago so he shrugged and pushed into Percy's head. Like Ginny, Percy's shields weren't impressive, and Harry wondered whose were.

Dumbledore, obviously. He was powerful, no doubt about it. McGonagall? Sure, why not? If not, she was still a difficult opponent to get rid of. He had seen her fight, and still had no real wish to go up against her. Oh well, he had time to think about it when he faced her again. Right now he had Order members to find in little Percy's head.

"Now, Percy, this will hurt a lot," he assured the redhead. "Where are the others?"

Percy was trying to scream as Harry tore through memories and conversations in his head. He found out where several Order members were. Harry chuckled to himself. When he came out from the man's head, Percy was merely groaning, eyes rolling up.

"Hey. Hey!" Harry slapped his cheek. "First lesson; learn Occlumency, just in case. Aaw, yeah, I forgot; you won't have the chance to learn it! Silly me."

He dragged Percy out of the house. A few Dementors approached him.

"No, no, I got him," he reassured them. "Just make sure no one gets close, yeah? You have permission to eat their souls, unless it's Hermione or Ron. You know their magic, right?"

The Dementors nodded and then spread out. Unlike humans, they did not find the sounds of Percy's garbled screams unpleasant, nor did they flinch away from the unmistakable noise of an arm being ripped off the rest of the body.

"Whoops!" came Harry's voice. "I still have to hang you up, so you gotta have at least a few limbs still attached! Oh well, one arm… what can be the harm? What was that? Sorry, you'll have to speak up, I really can't understand you."

Death did not bother Dementors either and they didn't even turn about as Percy's screams was abruptly cut off.

-o-

Only two Dementors followed with him into the Ministry. Harry looked both ways in the dark hallway before starting to walk, Percy's corpse slung over his shoulder, one Dementor holding Percy's left arm.

"Corpses are heavier than I thought," he told one of them as they approached the atrium, Harry walking as silently as he could. "Maybe I should work out, you know, get some more muscles. I have the feeling I'm going to this kind of thing a lot in the future… here we are."

He put the corpse down and looked around. Harry pulled out a few twigs from his pocket and turned them into stakes. He levitated the corpse up near the ceiling and hovered the stakes nearby, barely noticing he wasn't really using his or Voldemort's wand. He was focusing more on the task itself that pure magic poured out of him. He used his fingers to move the stakes or Percy.

Finally he got it into position and jammed the stake through Percy's body until it pierced part of the ceiling. Then he stopped to have a look.

"Not dramatic enough," he concluded and let Percy's body drop. "Oh, I know; the statue! But then I need something sturdier than wood to keep him there…"

It took some time, but finally he had some swords instead. Well, it looked like swords at least.

"Have you never heard the tale about King Arthur?" he asked when one Dementor seemed dubious of his attempt to nail Percy to the stone statue in the middle of the atrium. "Well, Excalibur didn't pierce a human body, but the gist of the tale was a sword in a stone. So why can't I do it too? It'll be fun!"

Yes, but it took a long time and Harry was quite nervous when he was done. He'd made noises and was therefore surprised no one came over.

"Honestly, and they're supposed to be on high alert," he scoffed as he wrote out a message to the Light.

He finished the whole display by pinning the message to Percy's clothes and placing the arm on the floor, pointing at the corpse.

"You think they'll notice?" Harry wondered to the two Dementors. They merely started to tug him towards their escape route. "Alright, _alright, _I get the message, 'stop dawdling stupid human and let's get the hell out of here'. You know, you are expressive, just not with your faces…"

He wished he could see the Ministry workers' faces, when they discovered the body. Oh well, the Daily Prophet always liked details.

-o-

The first one to discover Percy Weasley was a secretary to the Minister. Her screams alerted Aurors and Order members alike but there was little they could do but stare at what met them.

Percy was pierced by several swords to the statue, his eyes vacant and blood covering his skin and clothes. His arm, torn off, lay pointing at him. One of the Aurors saw the note and retrieved it without touching the body. He furrowed his brow, then blanketed his expression.

"It's for Hermione Weasley," he stated to no one in particular.

_Hi Hermione (Weasley now, isn't it?),_

_It's Harry! Look; I tried to do King Arthur and Excalibur, only Percy got in the way and I used five swords instead of one. Do you like it?_

_Anyway, how about a game of tag? We're both it. You hunt me, and I'll hunt you. Let's see who finds who first!_

_Bye bye_

_Harry Potter_

_PS. Can I call myself a Dark Lord? I mean, it sounds so pompous…_

When Lucius Malfoy arrived, the body had yet to be taken down and he eyed it curiously.

"Mr Malfoy."

He turned to look at Amelia, steadying himself on his cane.

"Minister," he said, bowing. "Dreadful business, dreadful… this was not the sight I expected this morning."

"So you're not supporting Potter in this?" she wondered.

Straight-forward, like always; he did have to admire that about her. Never afraid of stating her opinion, no matter to who.

"Not at all, Minister. Why, I've learnt my lesson well enough."

"Your and Mr Weasley always had your differences."

"Yes, indeed we did but I would never wish for the death of his children. He has already lost too many family members, so this is truly a tragic event."

When he returned home Harry was there, drinking tea with Narcissa and Draco. He accepted a cup from Narcissa as he sat down. He smiled at Harry and said:

"That was quite the display. Pray tell me, why the swords?"

"Well, Mr Malfoy, have you ever heard of King Arthur and Excalibur?"

Tbc…

* * *

Short chapter, but hopefully I'll be able to whip something up for Halloween, on the 31st!

Chapter ten: Who's next? Oh, I know; a redhead and a smart one, with two adorable children…

Until later,

Tiro


	10. Chapter 10

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Someone pointed out a typo for me in the last chapter, thanks! I hadn't noticed but it's fixed now!

Read and enjoy this Halloween special! For me it's in the middle of the day of October 31st but since I will be busy for the rest of the day I'm posting it earlier than I normally do.

_Violence is described here._

-o-

**Chapter Ten**

Harry remained docile and quiet for a long time after Percy's death. In fact, almost a year since the Order had gone into hiding had passed before Harry finally found the ones he really, _really _wanted to kill after Percy.

"You could pick someone else," Rabastan tried to reason with him once, in March and roughly four months after Percy's death. "You know, you don't _have _to wait to kill someone specific."

"I want to say hello to Ron and Hermione. I doubt she taught anyone the rules of tag, so I'll have to go to her."

"Potter, they're hiding better than ever now."

"I don't care, I'm finding them," Harry replied, and that was it.

On October 31st, anniversary of his parents' death, Harry stepped up to a house in a small Muggle town. A small group of children ran past him, buckets filled with candy in their hands, all of them dressed out. One girl stopped and said:

"Mister, are you dressed up too?"

"Why yes, I'm a wizard!" Harry told her. He was wearing simple, black robes and had forgone a cloak despite the chilly weather.

"You look weird."

"Thank you, I was aiming for that."

She giggled and he waved her away. Could've grabbed her to get inside the house easily, but what the hell, she was kind of cute in her ladybug costume.

He walked up on the porch and knocked on the door, the excited knocking of kids on Halloween and hoped it would ease the occupants of the house into thinking it was just some more kids demanding candy. He heard steps and Voldemort's wand slapped into his left hand. It was Ron who opened.

There was a second of silence, shock radiating from Ron and Harry enjoying putting that shock there. Then he got down to business.

"Trick or treat," he said and sent Ron into the house with a magic-enforced kick. He walked inside and closed the door behind him.

Ron was already coughing up blood, the kick must have broken some of his ribs, and he couldn't get a word out.

"Oh, my, I'm sorry, Ronnie-kins, I didn't mean to kick so hard!" Harry said in a stage-whisper. "Hey, are the kids at home? I've been _dying _to meet them."

Ron shook his head but Harry had already read the truth in his eyes.

"Shall I just go and look for them?" Harry wondered. "Maybe they're asleep? Or are they permitted to stay up late for Halloween?"

Ron pulled out his wand but Harry was there and stomped on his hand. A gasp came out, then a garbled:

"Hermione, get the kids out!"

Harry aimed another kick, this time at Ron's face and laughed as Ron's nose broke, blood gushing out. He heard steps on the second floor.

"Oh no, we can't have them _leave_," he told Ron who rolled over, holding his ribs, blood smearing onto the floor. "I haven't even had a chance to meet them!"

He flew up the stairs and met Hermione in the hall, both of them empty-handed, Harry having put away Voldemort's wand once he realized he didn't need it for the moment. She screamed at him but he slammed his hand into her chest and pushed out raw magic. It burnt away her clothes and she was thrown down. Once both parents were subdued, Harry listened. He only heard the snuffling breaths of two sleeping children.

Hermione was moving but Harry moved to hold her against the floor.

"Someone mentioned pulling out nails as a torture method," Harry said and cast a silencing charm around them. "Wouldn't want to wake the kids while I try that method. Here we go…"

The first nail and Hermione was howling. He held it up. It was painted a demure pink and he shrugged, throwing the nail to the side and continued with the entire hand. She was gasping at the end, moaning and whimpering as blood pulsed out from her ruined fingertips.

"That was rather satisfying actually," Harry said. "How did I do?"

She tried to spit on him but he avoided it.

"Ha! Percy did that on me, so now I've learnt not to lean in too close," he said happily.

"You bastard!"

"Thank you. I'll go and see if your kids are alright."

He flew off her, moving more with magic than with his legs, not caring that Hermione was struggling to go after him.

-o-

Hermione had no idea how Harry found them. After Percy's death, they had moved around five different times and notes to the rest of the family were sent from different towns and villages to keep their location hidden.

She didn't recognize him at first, when they met at the top of the stairs. Yeah, sure, he _looked _the same but he wasn't the same. He was cold where he once was kind, sadistic where his gentle nature usually ruled. He was a monster, and perhaps the Light had helped make him into one.

The pain in her hand was excruciating but the thought of Harry alone with her son and daughter was enough to get her energy back, wand in her undamaged hand. She ran into the room and stopped at the threshold as Harry looked up. He was a dark shadow between the beds, a wild animal ready to strike. The children slept on peacefully.

"Please, not my children!" she begged.

He tilted his head as his bright eyes watched her every move. When he looked at the wand Hermione tried to not appear threatening.

"Why not?"

His question threw her off balance. The nerve of him…! Saying such things… she looked at him carefully. Would he kill a child? He'd killed Order members, he'd strung up Percy like some sort of ornament… but there was no evidence that he had personally killed a _child_.

"They haven't done anything to you, Harry," she tried with. "They're innocent."

"Innocent?" Harry looked down at them. "Yes, I suppose they are…"

He caressed the tuffs of hair of her youngest, and for a moment they simply watched the two children breathe. Hermione noted absently his touch could almost be seen as gentle and kind. Then she reminded herself that those hands killed Neville and Luna. Those hands took Ginny's mind. He was a killer, and he was too close to her children.

"They're innocent," she repeated, going through spells she could use that wouldn't hurt her son and daughter while blasting Harry away from them. She could hear Ron groaning downstairs and wondered how badly injured he was.

"You said that already," he replied.

_He's focusing too much on them, on me. Need to distract him with words._

"You have something against me and Ron, Harry, not them. They haven't done anything to hurt you, like…" _I have to say it, have to make him think I feel it's our fault. _"Like we did. All those things we did, Harry, to you… you didn't deserve it. But that was _us_, not them. They're free from our sins."

Harry looked at her and she refrained from smiling, thinking she had him. It never occurred to Hermione to think that Harry was just playing along to make her feel better.

"Yes, they're free from your sins," he said. "It doesn't mean I won't kill them."

Magic blinded her and she screamed, she howled and aimed her wand blindly, shot off several spells and curses at Harry but he dodged them and when the magic was gone, it had taken her children with it.

They looked peaceful, looked like they slept but their chests didn't move and whatever Harry did, it only took him a moment to kill them. Hermione lost it. She ran at Harry but he passed her by as if he had become a shadow. She moved, intent on killing, maiming, she would tear her former best friend apart for what he had done.

_I'll kill him I'll kill him I'll kill him no I'll torture him because he deserves that he deserves that the Light is supreme and Harry Potter is a monster we needed to kill years ago._

Down the stairs and into the hall where Ron and Harry was now fighting only Ron was losing, Ron was covered in blood and had Harry's hands around his neck, Ron's face was turning purple and his eyes had rolled up. Harry was laughing, in a way Voldemort probably would have liked and Hermione didn't notice her own attack until Harry's entire side tore open. He fell back, blood spilling from his lips and his ribs visible through muscles, fat and organs. Voldemort's wand moved into his hand and then:

"_Sectumsempra!_"

Severus Snape's spell did its job and Hermione fell back, slashed open from shoulder to hip, screaming at the pain of losing her children, pain at being torn open, pain at ever having allowed Harry Potter to live after he defeated Voldemort.

_He should have died with Voldemort… we should have killed him when Voldemort failed to do so…_

Hermione tried to breathe and found her throat clogged with blood. She coughed it up and rolled over to her side, more blood pouring out. She was getting light-headed, pain everywhere and nowhere.

Harry staggered, got up and laughed again even as more blood came from his mouth. Ron rolled over, dragged himself over to Hermione and started applying pressure to the wound. Hermione tried to raise her wand against Harry but her vision was failing now. She tried to tell Ron to kill Harry but when she looked again, Harry was gone.

Later, the Order arrived but only to their injured bodies and two dead children upstairs. They didn't need to ask or investigate to know who had been there. Ron reported the wound Hermione dealt to Harry, and Albus immediately sent people to St Mungo's even if Harry wouldn't go there in fear of getting caught by the Ministry or the Order.

Madame Pomfrey ran several spells over the dead children while Hermione, chest wound somewhat healed and her hand treated, sobbed into Ron's shoulder. His wounds had been healed too, and he stared into the wall with one hand tightly grasping his wand.

"Whatever Potter did, it was quick and painless," Poppy said at last. "I can't see a spell. I think he manipulated his own magic to take out theirs."

"Is that possible?" Ron asked.

Albus looked from him to Poppy. She stood up and replied:

"It takes a lot of willpower, Mr Weasley. A lot of willpower and quite a bit of skill. I don't know what Potter has been doing over the last year, but it doesn't bode well."

-o-

Rabastan heard the door open, and the sound of a falling body. He got up from the kitchen table, out in the hall and found Harry lying there, bleeding heavily.

"Merlin's beard, Potter!"

"Hi," he wheezed out as Rabastan hauled him up. "Oh, ouch… very ouch… I can't… breathe very well…"

Rabastan got him to the bathroom and tore open the robes, cleaning the wound whilst trying on the few healing spells he knew.

"Potter, are you directing your magic to your wound?"

"Maybe… I don't know…"

"Well, it's healing rather rapidly so you must be doing that. Don't stop."

It still took over an hour before he could get Harry into some new clothes and into bed. At that point the Dementors was crowding them until Harry made them back off.

"You didn't take them with you, wherever it is you went. Idiot. You're supposed to keep them with you!"

"I went to visit Ron and Hermione," Harry said.

"They managed to do this much damage?"

"Well, I was distracted… and Hermione was pissed off."

"Because you were there?"

"No, I killed her kids," he replied.

"You… went there and killed their kids? I thought you were supposed to kill your friends."

"It was a spur of a moment-thing, you know. I didn't plan it until I saw how desperate she was to keep them alive."

"So you just strolled in and killed them."

"No, I had to kick Ron to get in, and then I pulled Hermione's nails. Rabastan, I feel nothing. I killed two children and they hadn't done anything but being born to people I hate. What does that mean?"

Rabastan sighed as he sat down on the bed. Harry kept looking at him. He didn't look like he was in emotional pain over what he did, but he seemed to realize his lack of regret was something to be talked about.

"Think back, Potter. What would be the most painful for your former friends; their deaths… or their children's?"

"Oh… so… by killing the kids, I made them suffer the most?" Harry said. "Yeah… I mean, nails can be re-grown and broken noses can be healed. Those children can only be put in the earth."

"It was a very Dark Lord-move, Potter."

He left it at that, and left Harry alone with the Dementors.

-o-

Harry sat up after a while. He didn't really feel tired. He was just… nothing. Not tired, not energetic. Joyful over what he did? Not even that. He'd done it, and he'd enjoyed it at that moment. Now… it was just a memory.

A Dementor came closer and held out a bag.

"Sweets?" he said as he took the bag. "You've been listening too much on me harking on Halloween…"

It was indeed filled with candy.

"Perfect way to end the day?" he wondered and popped a chocolate into his mouth.

He decided not, and pulled out parchments from underneath his pillow. He didn't cross out Ron and Hermione, but he added a note that they would be really, _really _angry at him. It would make them reckless, and it would make the game of tag fun.

Tapping the quill against the parchment, he took another piece of chocolate and said to the Dementors:

"Who should I pick next?"

Tbc…

* * *

Hope you enjoyed!

Chapter eleven: Harry hunts, and he finds, and he runs…

Until later,

Tiro


	11. Chapter 11

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Hey, saw someone wondering how long until Harry ends up in the past. Not too long now, not too long… I can't say for sure, but I have a vague plan of how it happens. Stay tuned for that, and enjoy this chapter.

_Violence and a bit of gore are described here._

-o-

**Chapter Eleven**

Losing a child could do a lot to a person, Arthur Weasley knew that. He had lost four. Ginny wasn't dead but she was gone, and probably forever remain gone, just a shell breathing in St Mungo's. He didn't know where George was buried, and he no longer knew where Fred's body was. Percy had been laid to rest next to his mother. Arthur kept Fred's gravestone, and added George's name to it. When they found where Potter lived, he'd find out where Potter had buried his sons and take them to Percy and Molly's graves, where they truly belonged.

Harry had been such a quiet boy, and now… now he had killed not only Arthur's children but also Ron's. It was heart-breaking to see those two tiny coffins being lowered into the ground. Hermione didn't cry. Her face was set in stone, and her eyes burned. Ron kept his head down, held Hermione's hand, lost in a way Arthur had never seen before.

Afterwards they gathered for a bit before once more spreading out, this time with a system to check up on one another. Harry Potter could not be given the chance to attack them like that ever again.

None of them were foolish enough to think that Hermione's attack had killed him. Not even Hermione herself believed that. There were those who would help Harry Potter even now, those who would make sure he didn't die. For example, the Azkaban prisoners he let loose.

Also, where were the Dementors? There had been little signs of them, but Albus was rather certain that they followed Harry now.

"They weren't with him when he came to us," Hermione said. "I didn't feel their cold."

"Neither did I," Ron said. "It was just… him. I shouldn't have opened the door. It's my fault."

"No," Hermione replied, "it _wasn't. _It's his fault. He killed them. You thought it was someone else."

"I should have been more careful, should've sensed for his magic. The trace was all over the place; he didn't try to hide it as he came to the village. I didn't bother looking for it."

How could they tell him it wasn't his fault? With no sign of Harry Potter since Percy's death, they had all grown lax with their control. No more.

"We will find him," Albus told the grieving parents, putting a hand each on their shoulders. "We will find him, and make him pay for those lives he has taken from us."

"It won't give them back to us."

"No, Hermione, it will not. However, it will prevent him from doing the same to someone else. We will stop a madman."

"I'll make him beg for mercy," Hermione snarled. "And I will _never _give it to him."

-o-

Next on his list, Charlie Weasley. Charlie never moved back to England, and so Harry spent weeks looking for him, the Dementors finally finding him. He refused to listen to a single word Harry said and focused on attacking, leading to him losing both arms and a leg, one arm due to Rabastan and the other limbs due to the Dementors.

Rabastan picked up Charlie's wand and threw it over to Harry.

"You're collecting wands, aren't you?" he said.

"Yes. You remembered."

"I remember weird hobbies. What shall we do with him now?"

"Kill him," Harry said. "Take his body to England and display it somewhere."

And so Charlie Weasley ended up in Hogsmeade, limbs and body carelessly thrown onto the ground for the people in the village to discover. Harry didn't stay to watch; his mind was already set on the next on his list.

-o-

Fleur came home and locked the door behind her, her and Bill's infant daughter in her arms. Before doing anything else, she went and put her down in the nursery.

They had moved seven times since they were advised to move away from their former home. She missed that house near the sea. She wanted to go back, or to France… somewhere she could feel safe.

The Order had tried to recruit Bill into a more active duty but so far she had managed to make him stay away from that. She didn't like Dumbledore that much, or their obsessive need to kill Harry Potter.

Fleur remembered him as a gaunt, scared teenager and had a hard time picturing him as the monster Dumbledore painted him as.

It took her a few minutes to notice the chill. She took out her wand, and saw a shape outside the house. A Dementor. Dementors meant…

_Harry Potter worked with the Dementors._

She ran up the stairs and threw the door to the nursery open. Harry looked up, her daughter in his arms. Fleur almost dropped her wand, one hand already stretching out before she remembered what happened to Ron and Hermione's children.

"Don't worry, I haven't done anything to her," Harry reassured her. "She's a cute little thing, isn't she? Got your hair too."

"'Arry…"

"I find it that I don't want to kill you," he said. "I was perfectly fine with killing my friends, but I don't want to do it to you. Strange, huh?"

"I don't want to die," she told him honestly. "And I don't want to lose her."

"So what should we do?"

It was the strangest stand-off either had ever encountered. Fleur set down her wand, held her hands out with palms showing, a surrendering gesture.

"We leave," she said. "We go to France, me and Bill."

"He won't listen to that. I've killed his brothers and essentially his sister. I killed his nephew and niece."

"Why, 'Arry?"

"Because apparently I'm evil. Because I felt like doing it. Because Dumbledore tried to kill me only he killed George instead. If the Light had left me alone, I probably wouldn't be doing this."

Harry looked down at the toddler in his arms. Fleur noticed her daughter's hand wrapped around his finger, pink against the paleness of his skin. He looked ill, not evil. But evil could look normal.

"Bill will listen to _me_," she said.

"You're bargaining with a murderer."

"I don't care. I wish to live."

Harry stepped closer. He handed over her daughter and stepped back.

"If you're still here by nightfall," he said, "I'll kill you no matter what I just said."

He disappeared into the shadows. Fleur took a moment to look at her daughter, make sure she was alright, and then picked up her wand to start packing.

-o-

Harry came back to an empty house and a single note pinned to the table.

_Thank you, Harry, for sparing my daughter. We will not return to England. Bill has given me his word, and it is set in magic._

_The item I left behind is up to you to keep._

_Fleur_

He took it up. It was a heavy necklace, chain in silver, a locket sealed with the magic of both Bill and Fleur. He could sense the promise, the oath of theirs to not return.

He took the necklace with him, but before stepping into his house he stopped by George and Fred's grave.

"I think your oldest brother married smart," he told the stone, hand on the earth as if it would let him feel the twins. "And right now I wish I was back in the past and none of this had happened. I'll get over it in a minute, but… just…"

He bent his head. He didn't cry. There was no use in crying and begging for time to be reversed. The path he was walking down was not an unpleasant one, not with the way his mind worked now. It was just nice to take a minute every now and then and dream of how things could have been.

A peaceful life with no Azkaban and Dementors, never knowing the coldness of Azkaban during the winter, never knowing what it felt like sleeping with people's screams echoing in his ears. Maybe he'd be together with Ginny, maybe not. Perhaps he'd play with Ron and Hermione's kids, not killing them.

"A boring life," he said aloud. "Safe, but boring. Perhaps the old me would have accepted that. This me… oh, I'd kill someone just to make something interesting happen…"

He laughed instead of crying, and walked back to the house, crossing out Bill and Fleur's names with a note, saying they weren't to be killed as long as they didn't return to England. If they did return and Harry found out about it, he'd kill that little girl. Or maybe have a Dementor suck her soul. The chances were slim; Fleur didn't seem to be the person to go back on her word, and both she and Bill had given an oath. Harry wasn't too worried about them.

Should he aim for Arthur now? Should he try to find Hermione's parents? Did they come back; did she manage to make them remember her again? Did it really matter? If they died, she'd know it regardless; he'd make sure or it.

But he had no desire to hunt for two Muggles. He had dealt a heavy blow on Hermione already, killing her kids in front of her. It would be easier to focus on the Order, on Arthur. He put the list down and fell back on his bed.

"I'm tired," he announced to a Dementor. "This wasn't supposed to be my life, but here I am… worse than Voldemort. He'd have a good laugh about that, I'd imagine."

Then Harry rolled up and closed his eyes.

-o-

A few days later, he chased an Order member through the streets of London. He kept the woman from going to Diagon Alley and Apparating away from him. He sent the Dementors ahead to lead her where he wanted her to go, and grinned whenever she did just as he planned. A Dementor poked its head around a corner she just turned away from, and then moved to follow Harry.

She dared to fire spells over her shoulder, and Harry simply blocked them with innocent Muggles plucked from the street. They left behind chaos and bleeding people, screams that made the Dementors excited. Harry laughed and ran faster, pushed magic into muscles that made him fly past the woman and knock her into the wall. He felt a rib crack under his foot and wondered how many more broke on impact with the wall.

Blood came up when she coughed and he took her wand before she could attack him. He didn't know her name; Lucius had told him about her. She was new and eager, a protégée of Tonks'. Lucius had overheard her say she wished to take out Harry Potter on her own to ease Tonks' grief at losing beloved friends. That just begged for Harry to take her out first.

"First I kill Tonks' partner, and now her little duckling," Harry said. "Oh, that's hilarious."

"Monster!" she gasped.

"It or me?" Harry wondered, pointing at the Dementor. "Because it's easier if you just say monster in plural. Oh, then again, you won't live to do it again."

"You bloody monst-!"

He stomped on her chest.

"Really, stop talking," he told her. "I know I just encouraged you but I can apologize for that and now tell you to shut up. No, don't try to run either…"

He stopped her, grabbing her by her feet and dragging her deeper into the alley. Dementors kept watch around them, and Harry cast a few spells around them so they were left alone by Muggles and magical people alike.

"Now, I'm just gonna take a look into your head… it's easier if you don't struggle," Harry advised.

"I'll kill you… I'll kill you!"

"No need to repeat yourself, I heard you the first time."

There wasn't much resistance when he was finished racking through her memories. Foam bubbled at the corners of her mouth, and she was twitching.

"I think I ruined her," Harry told one Dementor. It began to lower its head down over her. "No, don't. Leave her alone… I think I want her to live like this. She'll never be normal again. She'll be a prisoner inside her own body."

Harry dragged her closer to the open street so someone would discover her at some point, and then he started walking down the street. He was glad he hadn't taken a robe today; he was dressed as a Muggle with a normal overcoat, her wand resting safely next to his own and Voldemort's under the coat. He could walk down the street without anyone looking twice at him.

The cold was settling in as well. It was nearing Christmas again, his second without George. When he'd been in Azkaban, he'd still have George around during those days, or at least a couple of gifts.

Harry allowed himself to think about a different future where George lived and he wasn't a mass murderer. It was rather hard. He'd never had a normal life, so perhaps it wasn't that easy to think it up. Maybe they'd have had a tree for Christmas. Gifts, food… last year Rabastan had given him ten wands from killed wizards and witches, and Harry had returned it by cooking dinner.

The moment he felt a magical presence, Harry moved into the shadows and concealed his own magic. All but one Dementor moved away from him; something he'd taught them early on. He didn't want them to attract attention and lead wizards and witches to him even if he hid his own magic from them.

Now the lone Dementor grasped his shoulders and they waited. Tonks, Arthur Weasley… magical presences he didn't recognize. Must be Aurors or Order members he never knew before he was imprisoned. It seemed like the Order was bigger now than it had ever been. Funny that.

"Come on," he told the Dementor. "Let's go home."

-o-

Albus stood in the private room at St Mungo's, watching Tonks sitting next to the bed of the young woman that had been her protégée. Albus remembered her name to be Anna, a fierce woman who had been rising fast. Now, staring blankly up at the roof, she was no different from Frank and Alice Longbottom.

"Potter's dead," Tonks swore and rose up. "That kid I knew and liked, he died. He died and some monster took his place, and I'll kill that monster."

"Nymphadora, please… do not do anything rash. Neither Kingsley nor Anna would want that."

"I know, professor, I just… I just hate him! He's taking everything!"

Albus knew this. He didn't know Harry's full reasons, but he must have gone insane at some point. The death of George Weasley was a tragic accident, which surely couldn't be enough for Harry to do all the things he'd done so far. If only he understood Albus' reasons for that attack. Harry had always been able to see sense in the end, even sacrificed himself at Voldemort's hand.

If only he'd never returned back to life from that…

It was too late for that kind of wish. Too many people had perished and been hurt for Albus to indulge in such nonsense. He had to end it.

"We will win," he said. "The Light will definitely win. Anna is a strong woman, Nymphadora. She needs time to heal and we must give her that."

"She's like a Cruciatus victim! Like Frank and Alice Longbottom!"

"Yes, but the healers said it's most likely only temporary. She will come back to us."

Somewhere, deep inside of Anna's mind, she could hear them. She was alone in the darkness but could hear all that happened around her. She remembered the pain, the pure agony as Harry Potter dug into her head and destroyed her.

She wasn't insane. She could think rationally. There was no way they could defeat Potter. He was strong; he didn't go all out on her. Something about him was strange too… the way he spoke to the Dementors, the way the Dementors respected him… there was definitely something weird about it.

She wondered if they knew, if the Order understood that something was going on between Potter and the Dementors. More importantly, how far would Dementors go to protect him? What was Potter to them? Did they even have such a thing as 'loyalty' inside them? Anna wanted to ask. She needed to ask, to tell… had they seen inside her head, the memories, how the Dementors acted around Potter? They should. No, they _must_.

_Open your mouth Anna, and speak. Speak to them, while they're here. Warn them… just something, something that beckons them inside… please…_

Tonks' hand around hers. She could feel that. She couldn't move. Her eyes felt heavy and strange. She tried to blink. It happened so slowly. She tried to open her mouth.

All that came out was an exhale of breath. Anna didn't give up. Another try brought a moan, and their attention. But then healers came in and started speaking and Anna got lost inside her own head again.

When she opened her eyes once more, it was to the sight of Potter standing leaning over her bed.

"Hi," he whispered, caressing her cheek. "I need to make sure you don't get to tell them anything."

_No… no! _

"It won't hurt this time… I think it won't, at least. Hate me all you want; that's what I'm after." He smiled, a wide and strange smile. "I'm a monster after all."

Anna tried to scream, tried to move but she was powerless and his magic was oppressive, heavy. It made her sink into a black ocean of nothingness and she thought, almost dreamily _If only Dumbledore hadn't killed that Weasley boy…_

"Yes," Potter's voice came trickling in, thick as syrup, soaking up in her brain tissue, "don't we both wish for that…"

-o-

Christmas came and passed without much comment from Rabastan and Harry, but to Harry's surprise Narcissa Malfoy had sent him a gift. At least it was practical; a thick, black cloak with a hood outlined with white fur.

"You look like a lord," Rabastan said when Harry tried it on.

"Yeah, real funny."

"No, that's the thing… I ain't. You aren't scrawny anymore, Potter. Take a look in a mirror."

Without his glasses and now with long hair Harry hardly recognized himself. He was thin, not gaunt and a bit taller than before. No longer wearing the second-hand clothes from Dudley, Harry supposed he looked much better than he used to.

"A lord though? Seriously? I look normal."

"Lord," Rabastan said. "If Narcissa sent you that, she meant for you to look like a lord, trust me."

"She's not one to send gifts?"

"She didn't even give her own sisters gifts."

Harry glanced over at him.

"Hey, it's Bellatrix who kept complaining," Rabastan said, "that's how I know about it. But then again, Bellatrix pretty much complained about everything. She was crazy even as a little girl."

"I don't doubt that…"

"So, you got someone else on that list of yours? Shouldn't we be taking care of Dumbledore soon?"

"It's not enough. I want to destroy more of the Order."

"How about going after someone he's known for a long time then? McGonagall? You think you can handle her?"

With Dementors, Harry could pretty much handle whoever he wanted as long as he kept them from summoning a Patronus. McGonagall would be able to do that, so he couldn't rely on the Dementors for a fight against her or Dumbledore.

"I don't know," he said. "Only one way to find out."

"I like that attitude, Potter. I'll be back-up; you can trust me on that."

-o-

If Professor Snape was alive he would definitely call Harry idiotic at this very moment. He'd call Rabastan and idiot as well. To be honest, professor Snape would call anyone idiot for battling an enemy they didn't know too much about.

Harry knew professor McGonagall as a teacher, not much when it came to her as a fighter. All he knew was that she was strong.

So he was running, losing blood fast. He was easy to track, with his footsteps as well as the blood. He'd made one of the Dementors take Rabastan with it before professor McGonagall even pushed that one away with a Patronus. He heard Rabastan's yelling even now as he was running away.

Not that McGonagall was letting him go; she was not far behind. Harry wasn't scared to be caught. If anything, being challenged was exciting. Was he scared to die? No, not really. He'd meet George again if he did. Perhaps he'd find Voldemort in that place between life and death, who knew? He'd be condemned by his parents, surely, and hated by those he'd already killed but Harry wasn't scared to face their disappointment in him.

Finally he stopped running and started attacking to see her limit. She was blocking his spells very well, but widened her eyes when Voldemort's wand made an appearance. For a moment, she was distracted. That gave Harry the chance to tear open a wound from her hip to her shoulder. However, it was too shallow to make her fall.

One of her spells hit and Harry felt blood well up in his mouth as he was struck somewhere in the chest area. He pushed on and decided to go dirty. So instead of firing off another _Sectumsempra _he ran closer, throwing out shields to keep her spells from hitting him and once he was close enough, he jammed his elbow into her solar plexus. She doubled over and fought for her breath. Harry followed it with a kick to her face, breaking her nose.

Her hair came loose. She sent off a cutting spell at him and he just managed to dodge it. One minute it was pure fist fighting, another they cast spells on one another. Not a word passed between them. McGonagall's face remained impassive. She wasn't yelling, or trying to reason with him. Harry liked it. He had had enough of people trying to think they could get through to him with words alone.

It felt like it lasted forever, and only when his spell managed to bring McGonagall down did Harry realize just how exhausted he was. He looked around. Blood everywhere on the snow, both his and hers. He stumbled over to where she had landed.

McGonagall was partly ripped open, wand lying several feet away from her outstretched hand. But her eyes were clear and she spoke only with some difficulty:

"You're a monster, Harry."

"Thanks… professor. You guys… created me, so it's good that you know…"

He sat down next to her.

"The Order will be here soon," she told him.

"Not soon enough."

"I'm not dead yet."

"Don't worry. You will be in a minute."

He reached in a hand into her chest. He felt the beating of her heart against his fingertips. He removed his other hand from his bleeding wound, and put them both around his old professor's heart. She flinched. He brought it out, still beating, and she stared at it, then him.

"What has happened to you?" she whispered.

"I don't know," he confessed. "I've killed friends. Muggles. I want to kill so much more. Perhaps I always had that in me; I just needed something to tip me over the edge. I'll be taking your heart now, professor."

She gripped his robe, then his arm. He could rip it away, he still had that much strength. But her grip turned gentle, and she just looked at him for a moment. There was no hate.

"Goodbye, Mr Potter," she said.

"Goodbye, professor. It's okay to hate me. I think I do too sometimes."

When the Order arrived, McGonagall lay in the snow with her fingers intertwined over her stomach, the robe tucked over the hideous chest wound. Her expression was peaceful, contrary to the scene around her, the bloodbath.

They searched but her wand was missing, and to their horror, so was her heart.

-o-

Harry wasn't sure how he got to Malfoy Manor, but he woke up in the same guestroom they always prepared for him, Draco reading at his side.

"Mother said she wanted someone to watch you," Draco greeted him with. "Father stayed last night."

"How long have I been sleeping?"

"Three days. You killed McGonagall. Everyone on the Light side is going nuts."

"I had something with me…"

"If it's the heart, mother preserved it for you."

"Oh…"

"It's over there," Draco said and pointed across the room. "She didn't allow anyone to remove your wands, so they're still in your clothes."

The clothes were pretty much ruined, torn open from McGonagall's attacks. Harry didn't ask who redressed him, if anyone did or if they just did it with magic. He picked up the jar holding McGonagall's heart. Why had he kept it? Wasn't it enough with the wand?

He knew that for a single moment, holding her heart, he'd been tempted to taste it. But he didn't know how raw flesh would taste like, much less a human heart. Besides, she'd been alive too. He was a monster, but he wasn't that much of a monster that he'd show that to her.

"You meant to keep it then?"

"Yes," he said to Draco. "I think so."

"Taking wands aren't enough now?" Harry looked at him. "What? They report it you know, that you steal the victim's wand every time."

"The Ministry?"

"Ministry, the Order, Daily Prophet… anyone does it," Draco said. "Why are you doing it?"

"I guess it's a hobby. I should contact Rabastan, tell him I'm fine. Well, he probably did think that since McGonagall's dead and there haven't been any reports of me being captured…"

"Mother wants you to have something to eat before you leave, and a new set of robes."

"She's kind. Not what I expected first time I saw you."

"Yeah, so I was a dick. Get over it, Potter."

Harry smiled at that. Draco rolled his eyes and went to tell Narcissa and Lucius, quote, 'that the reckless, strong idiot had woken up'. Harry couldn't even tell him it was a lie. He rolled the jar with McGonagall's heart between his hands.

"I won," he spoke to the room.

Tbc…

* * *

Hope you enjoyed!

Chapter twelve: It's time to find those he really wants dead. Can Albus Dumbledore win over Harry? Can Hermione and Ron escape their friend?

Until later,

Tiro


	12. Chapter 12

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Thank you for all the reviews! Enjoy this chapter!

Note: I've made some edits in _The Nightmare Man_, just a few details to make the two stories fit together better.

_Violence and a bit of gore are described here._

-o-

**Chapter Twelve**

One of the heaviest blows had been dealt to the Order, and there was no escaping that. Minerva McGonagall's death had a huge impact on them all. Albus sat in his office after her funeral and kept staring into empty air.

He felt angry, and in despair. Harry Potter had managed to kill Minerva. Sure, he'd killed Voldemort as well but Albus always thought it was with the help of countless people and that Harry would never have managed without them. Was Albus wrong? Could Potter really be that strong he managed Minerva on his own?

Somehow he knew he'd be next. If Potter had aimed for her, he surely would follow. The Order consisted mostly of people Potter didn't know. They were new to him, and probably unimportant. Albus wouldn't be leaving Hogwarts for a while. The wards would prevent Potter from getting inside.

"Looks like I'll be stuck here for some time," he said.

-o-

What Albus didn't count on was Harry not caring about the wards, and pressing on despite that. Harry thought the wards would shriek out, alarm the school an intruder was coming but eventually they gave him, allowed him passage. He stood still for some time, waited for someone to come.

Nothing. It was as if Hogwarts welcomed him inside after he got through the wards the Ministry had set up.

Getting into the castle was even easier than getting through the wards. He opened the door and was inside. He'd chosen the evening to avoid most of the students. He was only after one person after all.

As he stepped into the main hall, he smiled.

"Figured you'd notice me," he said.

Albus stood with his wand ready.

"I don't know why Hogwarts have let you inside, but this is as far as you will go, Harry. Tonight I will end the terror you started."

"Oh? How long did you train on that speech? Too bad there aren't any reporters here to write about it, make you shine in the press."

"What happened to you, Harry?"

"You did. Not that you'd ever admit that. Perhaps you don't even realize it yourself."

"All I have ever done Harry, I have done it to keep the world safe."

"Yeah, yeah, spare me your 'For the greater good'-speech," Harry said and took out Voldemort's wand. "I'm not interested in hearing what you've done for the good of the world. I'm not here for the good of the world. I'm here to make your last moments alive very painful."

"You killed your friends…"

"I sure did."

"Your own professor!"

"Yeah, she put up a fair fight, I'll give her that," Harry acknowledged, grinning as it made Albus grit his teeth. "Will you do as well?"

Albus attacked. It was nothing like fighting professor McGonagall. This smelled of desperation. Not even Voldemort had seemed this desperate, and Harry laughed. He should be worried. Albus Dumbledore was still a formidable opponent. Voldemort feared him. So why didn't Harry?

He hadn't feared anyone since this all started. That was the difference between him and Voldemort, he supposed, as he blocked Albus' spells. Hogwarts' walls were hit and the castle shrieked. He heard distant screaming as the whole castle rumbled at the force of their spells. Even as he saw the damage the headmaster's spells did none of the expected fear turned up.

Harry feared nothing, not even death. Voldemort feared a lot, most of all death. He had turned into a monster to live forever. Harry had turned into a monster because… well, because he could. He had no reason not to be one.

"You're far more reckless than I thought you would be," Albus said once they stopped for a breath.

By now they were outside of Hogwarts, and Harry could hear students and professors yell from the inside. His clothes were singed, but he had no actual damage done to his body. He just felt a little tired.

"Really? You're comparing me to Voldemort, aren't you?"

Harry laughed at the look on his face.

"You are! Oh, that's hilarious! We're nothing alike, you know."

"You both kill people. You are monsters, both of you."

"Yeah, but he was scared. So damn scared of dying he would do _anything _to survive. Me? I don't give a damn if it's my body torn apart today."

He was the one to attack this time. The adrenaline surged through his veins, and black shapes began to come through the forest. Albus tried to cast a Patronus but Harry didn't let up his attacks, allowing the Dementors to close in. They went through the doors to the school and Albus screamed.

Harry didn't tell him they weren't there to kill anyone, that they had strict orders to not take anyone's soul. It was funnier seeing the horror on his face, and then keeping him busy from rescuing the children.

Magic gathered in Harry's legs, giving him a boost as he ran forward. Albus was distracted enough to receive a deep cut on his shoulder, exposing bone as muscles and fat parted with the skin.

"Oops," Harry said. "That's what you get for not paying attention to me."

"Harry…"

"You should've just killed me after your plan killing both me and Voldemort failed, you know. Would've saved a lot of us a lot of trouble… and their lives too, of course. Hermione's and Ron's kids wouldn't be dead now. Professor McGonagall would still be alive if you'd just finished the job."

"You say you wanted to die?!"

"I never asked to live in the first place."

Harry attacked again, getting angry. He didn't ask to live. No one does. When he was with the Dursleys, he asked to die, but never aloud to someone. Sometimes he wished he had. Uncle Vernon would surely have done it. He never liked Harry anyway.

If you love a child, you don't hit it. You don't call it names. You don't tell it it's a useless thing that shouldn't be alive. Harry knew that much, and therefore he knew Vernon never loved him.

Something cut through his side but he grinned through the pain and the blood trickling out of his mouth. The fight brought them further from the castle and Albus' age was started to shine through. Then again, Harry's youth did as well. He was getting tired.

Fighting against Voldemort had been exhausting, but back then he had really wanted to survive it, just that whole Voldemort-business. He shouldn't have tried so hard. He should've let Voldemort kill him and just be done with it.

"Do you get sick of your own mind sometimes?" he asked Dumbledore.

"What do you mean?"

Oh, when did he get a hit on Dumbledore's leg? That was a pretty bad limp.

"What I said, is what I meant. Do you?"

"I'm not like you, Harry."

"Aaahaha, I guess so. I just… sometimes I want to die. Sometimes I've always wanted to die. But back then, when Voldemort tried to kill me I fought back. Why the hell did I do that? I should've let him kill me. Then you could've dealt with him instead of me."

Harry pushed on, getting more reckless as he forced Dumbledore away from the castle. Students were coming out from it, and Harry could for a moment see the light of Patronuses light up the grounds. Well, he didn't expect the students and professors to give up without a fight.

He was getting more cuts and bruises from Dumbledore's spell. The old man wasn't giving up without a fight, and Harry could understand it. Perhaps Dumbledore thought he couldn't be defeated by someone like Harry.

Harry didn't care if he was weaker. He'd still kill the man, or die trying. Magic surged up inside him, he didn't know where he got it from and he used professor Snape's _Sectumsempra _to slowly cut away at Dumbledore's strength.

One slashed open Dumbledore's other shoulder. Another cut across his chest. A third rendered the left arm useless. Dumbledore was shouting but Harry couldn't hear anything but his own heartbeat and the rushing of his own blood through his veins.

Slowly he became away of his own grin, stretching his mouth wide open and showing off his bloodied teeth. Slowly he became aware of the fact they weren't near Hogwarts anymore; had they Apparated at some point? Slowly he became aware of all the aches and pains in his body but he also saw that Dumbledore was losing this fight.

The headmaster seemed to realize it as well.

"This is not happening!" he screamed. "You cannot win over me! You're just a child!"

"Children can be scary too," Harry spit out. "Besides, your time… it's over, old man. Time to let the new generation mess the world up…"

_You've done enough damage. Why the hell can't you realize it? If you hadn't been so cruel to Voldemort… had he even gone down the path he did?_

No use thinking about it when there was a man he wished to kill. Harry renewed his efforts, grinning anew and attacking with fresh power. He would probably drop half-dead after this or something, he knew it. His injuries were so much worse than when he fought McGonagall.

Finally Dumbledore was down, kept from fighting further but still breathing. Harry stopped for a moment and felt the pain. It made him double over and cough; blood trickled out of his mouth and nose. He could barely see.

Staggering over to the headmaster's side, he sat down and grinned down at him, blinking to keep the blackness at baby for a bit longer.

"You did put up a fair fight…" he said. "Not even Voldemort… did this much damage…"

"You're… a monster…"

"Pot calls kettle, headmaster. How about you realize it? It's your last chance after all."

"I never… did anything… _evil_…"

"Course you didn't," Harry said, pressing a hand against the bleeding wound in his side. The pain was sharp and unpleasant but held the blackness at bay. "You're too smart to allow… your actions to be seen as _evil_… you mask them, and people… people believe you."

"I have never done anything evil!" Albus yelled.

"You left a boy with a family who hated him," Harry said. "How is that not evil?"

"They were… _your _family!"

"I'd rather have been surrounded by strangers. It wouldn't have hurt that much to be hated by them."

A tear slipped out, moved through blood and sweat. Harry wiped it away.

"I'm a monster not only by choice. My family's hate… and the one who used me like a chess piece in his own sick game that was my life… they play an important part too."

"No…"

"Denying it until the very end?" he said. "I admit… you're good at that too. Now, please… _die_."

He conjured a sword. There would be no easy spell for Albus Dumbledore's demise, no easy escape for him.

"Harry…"

"No."

"Harry, _mercy_…"

"Headmaster, you've seen what I've done first-hand. Do you really think… mercy still exists inside me for people like you?"

He plunged it down and listened to Dumbledore's gurgling breaths, held fast as the old man struggled. Harry stared into those eyes, stared until the light started to leave, just like it had done with Severus Snape. With Albus Dumbledore, Harry didn't feel an ounce of regret seeing him die.

Finally the movements died down, and Dumbledore's hands slipped away from the bloodied sword. The light flickered once, twice… then it was gone. Harry let go of the sword and sat back. He was dizzy. When he looked down on the ground he wasn't sure how much blood was his, and how much belonged to Dumbledore.

The Elder Wand lay next to Harry. Voldemort's wand slipped out his hand as he grabbed it, held it in his hand.

"Alright… I'll be taking this, professor…"

He managed to put in his pocket, fumbled for Voldemort's as he begun to rise but the sharp pain brought him back down and he fell to his side.

"What… else did I… expect, really?" he managed. "Oh god, I can't breathe…"

He blacked out.

-o-

A black shape arrived at the scene. Its' long, rotten hands grabbed a hold of Harry's unconscious body. He was lifted to an emaciated chest covered by thin, black cloth, and another showed up. The two Dementors' sounds were low, almost soothing. They began to move when the second one stopped and returned to the corpse. It searched around the body for a bit, and then picked up a bone-white wand.

"Albus!"

The voices came closer and the Dementor shrieked. The one holding Harry fled, like it had been instructed to do. The second one, still holding Voldemort's wand, fled the other way so the people wouldn't know which one to pick.

It needn't worry. The Order and its followers focused solely on the body of their esteemed, now dead leader.

-o-

Harry woke slowly and groaned. He couldn't move. Everything hurt, his joints ached and he felt like throwing up but feared it would make his head explode.

"Don't move," came Rabastan's voice. "You really fucked yourself up this time, Potter. I can't believe you're still alive!"

"That… makes us… two," he got out. "How…?"

"The Dementors picked you up. You killed Dumbledore. It's exploded, the news. Dementors attacking Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore being murdered. The Ministry has joined up with the Order and is all for a manhunt, tracking you down and having you killed."

"Oh… well… that's to be… expected."

"Stop talking. Your lungs are damaged; I don't know how the hell your magic is healing them but stay still and don't talk."

Harry glanced over at him. He looked to be back in Azkaban, unshaven and almost gaunt.

"How… long?"

"You? It's been a week now. You've been awake but I don't think you want to remember that. Screaming your head off is a mild comment to how you were doing."

Better than being dead… maybe.

"Need to… sit up…"

Rabastan had to lift him. Harry couldn't move. Everything hurt but as he settled in a half-sitting position the aches drifted away.

"Go back to sleep, Potter. That young Malfoy, I contacted him. He'll sort things out for us with his father."

Harry couldn't even nod; he just vanished into the darkness again.

-o-

The funeral of Albus Dumbledore was held at the grounds of Hogwarts. There were crowds upon crowds. People from the Ministry, students from the school, creatures from the Forbidden Forest… there were people from Hogsmeade, Order supporters and all kinds of people from different countries that attended to the funeral.

Order members were there of course. The few surviving Weasleys, with the exception of Bill. They had lost contact with Bill when he moved to France without warning along with Fleur and their young daughter. Ron called him a coward, or said that Fleur had bewitched him.

No one knew he had chosen his new family over death, for Bill knew better than to cross Harry Potter.

Hermione didn't cry. She was planning. She had to plan. If Harry managed to kill Albus then… then what could he do to them?

Albus' wand was missing as well. Everyone knew who had it. If Harry Potter had managed to survive, a lot of the blood on the scene was revealed to belong to him, he was in the possession of the elder wand. It was a disgrace that such a monster like him had stolen such a beautiful, powerful wand.

As people sang their praises of Albus Dumbledore, there was no hesitation in them saying that Albus had done nothing wrong. Harry Potter was at fault. He was evil at birth. He was never kind. He was never the hero. It had always been Albus. Death has a way of changing a person's perspective, or at least send off the dead smelling like roses.

Lucius Malfoy was there as well, his Occlumency shields tight. He knew where Harry was. The young man was still recovering from the fight with Dumbledore, but he was healing at a remarkable rate. Almost as if his magic naturally did the healing for him. He didn't have to direct it, or do a healing spell on himself.

Narcissa sat next to Lucius now but Draco had opted to go and watch over Harry instead along with Rabastan. She revealed nothing on her face, but her hand was steady around his, cool to the touch. He drew strength from her presence and glanced at her lovely profile. She glanced right back.

The Minister stopped them when Albus' casket had been sealed shut and people began to move to gather in the Great Hall or leaving, like the Malfoys.

"A word, Mr Malfoy?" Amelia asked.

"Of course, minister. Narcissa, I won't be long."

She nodded and bowed a bit to Amelia before walking away.

"This is a right mess," Amelia said, straight to the point. "I need to know. You know a lot of things."

"People say that, minister."

"It's not true then?"

"Perhaps it was true once," Lucius admitted, "but now I am but one man trying to live a quiet life. If you ask though, I might have heard something. People still speak to me of things they would never mention to others."

"Do you know anyone who knows where Harry Potter is? He must move amongst the dark circles. I can't hold back the Order anymore; they're going to go berserk on everything remotely dark and the Aurors will follow their lead."

"I thought there was a manhunt for Potter already?"

"Yeah, but they dare call it ineffective. They want to tear this society apart, so I want this settled quietly."

"From what I have heard, Potter has made no move to get help from anyone," Lucius said. It was true, in a way; Lucius was the one who had offered his services in the first place. "But I am quite sure former Azkaban prisoners must be aiding him, perhaps to pay him back for letting them out."

_Or generally liking him, like Rabastan does. _

"He has Dementors on his side as well. I can't figure out what he used to make them follow him!"

"The thought-process of a Dementor is beyond the human mind, I would think. I'm afraid I'm not much help this time, minister, but I shall perhaps… endeavour to have a look around… stop this from getting too much."

"Yes, Mr Malfoy… you would benefit from it as well."

_Of course I would_. Lucius bid her farewell and moved to Narcissa's side.

"What did she say?" Narcissa wondered.

"I need to come up with something to keep the Order and the Aurors from destroying every part of our society."

"I'm sure _he _can help you get some ideas."

_Yes, perhaps, but _he_ is currently spending more time unconscious than awake… oh well, I'll have to try with that first…_

Lucius and Narcissa Apparated home first, and then over to Potter's house. They had just recently been allowed access to it. They came to a house in complete silence and a bit chilly as well. A Dementor floated into view and then drew back.

"Father?"

Draco's voice led them to a bedroom where Harry lay asleep on the bed, covered up to his chin. Draco sat on the bed, near Potter's feet.

"Before you tell me off, mother, those _things _took the chair away," Draco said and pointed at two Dementors. "They think he's too cold but won't leave, and figured the solution was to take away all the furniture so my only option would be the floor or the bed. A Malfoy does not sit on the floor."

"How about an extra blanket?" Narcissa said and looked through Harry's wardrobe. "Oh dear, he's really gone for the black look… wait a minute… yes, there is one!"

She spread it over Harry and he opened his eyes.

"Surrounded by Malfoys…" he slurred. "Is that bad?"

"Considering we're on your side, it's not bad for you," Lucius said. "Albus Dumbledore's funeral was quite packed. All sang his praises."

"Of course they do… when you're dead, you can't possibly be bad… well, unless you're Voldemort… or Bellatrix Lestrange… sorry, Mrs Malfoy but your sister was horrible."

"She did derail towards the end of her life," Narcissa admitted.

"So everyone mourned him? Idiots."

"They won't see it from your side anymore."

"I know," Harry said and slowly sat up. "I don't care. They can hate me all they want…"

"The minister approached me to see if someone knew where you hid yourself," Lucius said. "If I don't give her a target, she'll lose complete control over the Aurors and the Order. Any ideas?"

"No… not yet. Perhaps a trap?"

"My thoughts exactly. Dementors perhaps?"

"Let me… think it over," he said even as Narcissa pulled the covers higher up and settled a blanket around his shoulders.

"If you insist on sitting up I won't stop you," she said, "but the Dementors are making this room cold and I'm not about to let you become any colder in your condition."

"Before you say it, Mr Potter, yes, she's always like that," Lucius said. "Your best course of action would simply be to comply with her wishes."

Harry stared at him, then at Narcissa.

_Of course she's a mother-hen as well… oh, well, as long as she doesn't try to poison me to death._

-o-

When he had fully recovered, Harry set out with Draco and Rabastan to find some castle ruins to use as a trap. Draco was not happy about it.

"Why do I have to do it?" he asked. "It's bloody freezing, and dirt everywhere!"

"Don't be such a spoiled brat," Harry said. "Do you hear Rabastan complaining?"

"He's used to this sort of thing!"

"I never said that," Rabastan said as he stuck his head over a partly destroyed wall. "Quit arguing, both of you."

"I'm not arguing with him!" both Harry and Draco yelled.

"Children…"

Then he was gone again. Draco huffed but continued on.

"This place is no good," Rabastan said. "Too many missing walls, people wouldn't fall for it being your hide-out. Worst case scenario, we have to build a house on some empty land."

"Perhaps we should do that instead of continuing searching," Harry said. "Since someone is feeling delicate."

Draco kicked him on the shin.

Lucius found them some empty land and within a few hours they slapped a house up. Well, the exterior of a house anyway. Harry did add some final touches inside for the Aurors and Order members if they followed the bait. Rabastan got working on anti-Apparition wards and anti-Portkey wards that would activate once a group had entered the grounds.

Dementors would be having a feast.

-o-

Two days later, Lucius slipped a note to the minister with a location and a warning that he had no way to confirm this location, and that his source was unwilling to step forward, fearing revenge from the insane Potter.

Amelia looked at the note for a long time. This was her only lead. If she didn't act soon, the Order would soon start tearing Knockturn Alley apart and then moving onto all suspected dark families. There would be a new war.

If only Potter hadn't gone for revenge. If only Dumbledore had been more careful… if only George Weasley hadn't died.

Did it all come down to his death? Amelia wasn't sure, but it was a major factor in the turn of Potter's behaviour. When she had seen him free from Azkaban, she wasn't sure how sane he was. Losing George, the one person who stood by his side at all times, would perhaps be enough to make him go crazy.

But this intense hatred for Dumbledore, was it purely due to the headmaster's actions on that fateful day? Amelia had heard whispers, of child neglect. Harry Potter abused as a child, and Dumbledore doing nothing about it. No hand reaching out to save a tiny child from a painful home… was that truly Dumbledore's character?

She shook her head. No time to think about it now. She had to take Potter out. He could no longer be allowed to roam freely and take out Order members and Aurors alike.

A raid was to be made to the location she had been given, but everyone was to act with extreme caution when approaching the house. A group would be stationed outside as back-up.

-o-

Tonks was part of the back-up and was therefore on site when hell broke loose. At first, it had been nothing suspicious, just a house surrounded by some trees. They saw lights inside, but no movements.

They dismantled the wards and passed over the grounds. Tonks wanted to be in the first group but bit her lip and held back.

She didn't see the Dementors coming. She didn't see anything coming. One moment all was fine, and in the next, people were screaming and the house exploded. Dementors poured over the ground, hunting, their screeching echoing in her ears.

Patronuses failed, succeeded but more Dementors came in. They fought over people, clamped their jaws over people's mouths and soon, one by one, her friends and colleagues started to fall.

Tonks fought until the very end, fought until she only had one arm and one leg left. Someone came walking and when she looked up, Harry Potter stared down at her.

His eyes were dark, his face a blank mask. He wasn't smiling. He didn't look evil. He looked… like he had always done. That was the worst.

"Monster!" she screamed, sobbed. She threw her wand at him. It fell harmlessly to the ground.

"Ignorant fool," he replied with.

"Go die! Die!"

"I did, once. I came back. I mean, I could always try again but… I don't really feel like it right now. Maybe after I've killed Hermione and Ron. Like, ending the circle."

"Shut up, you goddamn monster! Shut up!"

His face… Tonks only remembered the shy, quiet child. The one with dark circles under the eyes, the one who flinched, the one who had been hurt… Potter's current actions didn't match up with the face she was looking at.

"I hate you!" she screamed to reassure herself.

"That's okay, Tonks. That's totally okay. I'll be nice. I won't let the Dementors take your soul."

She hardly felt it in the end. His hands grabbed her head, then a twist… then nothing.

-o-

Lucius didn't return to the Ministry once it was out. He sealed up the manor, and told both Narcissa and Draco to stay out of sight if they went anywhere. He didn't trust the minister not to call it his fault, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it either.

Half of the Aurors and most of the Order were gone. Harry Potter had become worse than Voldemort, for Voldemort had a goal despite his violence and madness. Harry Potter killed because he could. There were no words from him, no demands… no way to protect yourself against his wrath.

"Where will it end, do you think?" Narcissa asked him one day, as spring slowly began to grow closer. They were alone, Draco off somewhere in the manor, nose probably in a book. There wasn't much else to do these days.

"I don't know," Lucius confessed.

"You didn't have to help him, you know," she said.

"He saved Draco's life when he didn't have to. That alone makes me respect him. Besides… it seemed more interesting to side with Potter."

"Is that so… you might be right."

Lucius looked outside. Potter had no goal. No endgame. He just wanted to kill. Something had snapped in his head, that's for sure. He was still Potter, he still had traits of his old personality left but a big part of the old Harry Potter had… vanished.

He wished that had happened earlier. Oh, what a sight they would have been. Harry Potter and the Dark Lord on the same side… Lucius hid his smile. It would have been worth anything seeing that. Voldemort had brought England down on its knees before his death. Harry Potter proved he could do it too. What would they have accomplished together?

It was almost too terrifying to think.

-o-

After the trap house, Harry had been running, chasing, ever searching for his two former best friends. He felt the thrill of the hunt, felt the adrenaline. Every time he tried to rest, it made his body shake. He thought up what he would do.

He'd play. He'd let them think they could defeat him. But that would only work if they didn't give up. Would they give up now, since he'd already killed Albus Dumbledore? Surely not. Hermione was too stubborn for that. Ron would just follow her lead.

But they weren't easy to find now. He found himself one step behind. It wasn't as annoying as he feared it would be. Actually, it was rather fun. He wasn't sure they were thinking that. Rabastan tagged along sometimes but mostly he caused trouble for what remained of the Ministry's Aurors.

There were speculations about Harry having help from the other escaped Azkaban prisoners. To be honest, he hadn't seen anyone but Rabastan since he helped them run away from the prison. He had no idea where they were or what they were doing, and he didn't care either. Rabastan was the only one he had grown to know and like during his time in Azkaban. The rest could do whatever they wanted as far as he was concerned.

As for the Ministry itself… he was being chased, Harry knew that. It was just, they didn't know what to look for. Harry had spent some time getting up new wards around the house, with Narcissa's help, so it would be hard for anyone to find it. He was rarely there as well. Most of his possession was with him on a daily basis; he had placed an ever-expanding spell on a small bag that was tucked inside his robe and it held all the wands he'd stolen, all the books he owned and now stole, and well… yeah, pretty much everything except his bed, because it would be too awkward to get out from the bag. But he did have blankets and pillows so he could sleep pretty much everywhere.

Right now he was in an abandoned house in the same town as Hermione and Ron. He needed to rest. He didn't know if the two would still be there in the morning but if not, he'd just chase after them again.

The coldness told him Dementors were closing in. They settled around him and Harry closed his eyes, both his own and Voldemort's wand clutched in his hands. One rotten hand petted his head, another settled on his leg. He heard them speak but the words turned jumbled as he got sleepier. It was nice though…

Morning and he woke abruptly. There was a change in the air, a tension. He sat up and then pulled the blankets and pillow away, pushing them back into the bag even as he held his own wand tightly. Once that was done, he picked up Voldemort's. The Dementors were tensed as well, and one came through the window, speaking.

Harry nodded once to show he understood and crept down the stairs. In the living room, cold and dreary, as the Dementor said, was Hermione and Ron, wands ready.

"The hunter becomes the hunted one?" he said. "How cute of you to try that."

"You won't escape," Hermione said. "This is the end."

"Funny that… I was just about to say the same thing to you."

Tbc…

* * *

Oh, how will it go?

Chapter thirteen: Who wins?

Until later,

Tiro


	13. Chapter 13

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

New year, great people have passed on to the beyond but thankfully, they will remain alive in our minds. Professor Snape will still be around to teach potions to Hogwarts students in so many stories, and I will forever remain over-indulgent to one of the snarkiest characters I know while mentally thanking Alan Rickman for being the wonderful actor he was in every movie I ever saw him in (honestly, his voice combined with his acting skills were a deadly combination).

This chapter will start moving things along!

_Violence and a bit of gore are described here._

-o-

**Chapter Thirteen**

Harry twirled his wand as he looked at his former best friends. Hermione look awfully calm to be standing in front of her children's murderer.

"Hey, can I ask a question?" he wondered.

"What?" she bit out.

"Was the coffins small?"

Ron lost it. He attacked. Harry laughed and dodged the spell. Hermione's face turned into a mask of stone, and she moved. He wondered for a moment if their movements were planned, including Ron's lashing out at him.

He was forced out of the house and the Dementors kept at bay by Patronuses. Harry told himself he'd be fine. He'd killed Albus Dumbledore. Could his former friends truly stand a chance?

His leg was trapped a minute later and Harry was rethinking that thought. Unlike Dumbledore, who had been pushed away from Hogwarts, Hermione and Ron had had time to set up traps. If there's something Hermione was good at, it was planning, and if there's something Ron was good at, it was strategies.

Was the whole village empty, or the Muggles just put to sleep through the chaos? Harry freed himself but the delay gave him a severely bruised shoulder. He still laughed at it, to fire them up even more.

Hermione and Ron tried to herd him but Harry didn't want to completely play along with them. He tried to read them, if they wanted him to break away or if they wanted him to be herded but their faces were blank now. Even Ron was blank, which was kind of surprising because as far as Harry knew Ron was pretty much incapable of keeping a straight face.

Well, maybe they didn't know each other after all.

Another trap sent him flying, the explosion enough to convince him either the village was empty, or the pair had put the Muggles to sleep. Nothing moved in the shadows of the houses, no lights came on. The Dementors screeched and made renewed efforts to escape the Patronuses without success.

The explosion did nothing more than singe his clothes and Harry jumped up on a rooftop. Ron and Hermione temporarily lost sight of him as he crouched low, hiding in the shadows. But they could use a point me-spell easily.

Before they did that though, his Dementors stepped up to distract them unknowingly. Harry grinned as he watched them struggle against the Dementors. He stretched out his magic and had to give it to his former best friends; they had traps planted everywhere and yes, the village had been emptied at some point. How come the Dementors hadn't noticed? Or him, for that matter?

Oh well, did it matter in the end? He'd get to the two of them today, whatever he had to do. They'd lived long enough. It was time to end the Order, and then… well, then what? He'd be hunted nonetheless.

Perhaps he'd leave England. Harry wondered for a moment if it would be considered unethical to bring corpses with you… it was just, he didn't want to leave Fred and George behind. Perhaps he could burn their bodies, and keep their ashes?

Or had they turned into something not very nice in the earth?

A shriek cut off his thinking, and Harry leapt from the roof. He engaged in a short fist fight with Ron, leaving them both with nosebleeds and in Ron's case, wheezing after Harry had driven his elbow into Ron's solar plexus. By then Hermione was there and they exchanged spell, shield, spells, then shields and running around in circles. She threw an Avada Kedavra at him; he responded with casting Crucio on her for a moment.

Her scream was a lovely sound. Ron's scream was nice too. Harry danced away from Ron's spell and magic gathered in his legs, launching him up on a rooftop again. The Dementors moved around, their screeches enough to make both Hermione and Ron flinch.

"Come on!" he shouted. "Be a bit more challenging!"

"You're dying today, Potter!" Hermione screamed at him.

"Yeah, people have said that before!"

He jumped across rooftops, got stuck in traps and released himself. One Dementor managed to get near him but Ron's Patronus made it shriek and move away.

Without the traps, he mused, they didn't stand a chance. As his time was now wasted getting free from traps, they were getting closer to him. Hermione's attacks were precise and annoying to deal with; Ron's ran wilder and Harry had an easier time dodging them. They could have planned this for as long as they wanted, but it didn't matter now apparently because Ron couldn't keep his shit together once he was near Harry.

"Feeling a bit emotional, Ronnie-kins?" Harry sang to him, laughing as it made Ron attack him again.

Then another trap caught him and Hermione slashed her wand, tearing his arm and shoulder open. He managed to get free but Ron attacked again. Now they closed in on him and the blood trail led them straight to him.

The traps were getting annoying and Harry spit out some blood just as Hermione and Ron caught up with him.

"Not so tough now, are you?" Hermione said. "We aren't defenceless little children, after all."

No tears, but he could see her lips tremble for a moment. He tried to put himself in her position, watching someone murder his children. He wasn't too bothered by it, but that was probably because he couldn't find himself wanting any children.

"No, you aren't," he answered. "You're just stupid people."

"You're the one bleeding."

"And you're the one who stopped paying attention to the Dementors."

They were grabbed and Hermione shrieked, Patronus flaring up but not before some happiness was sucked out of them. It gave Harry enough time to run away and when one of the Dementors joined him he was embraced and found himself more energetic.

"Are you giving me energy?" he wondered.

The Dementor tilted its head and then headed away, shrieking as it moved closer to Hermione and Ron. Harry shook his head and began to run. Perhaps it was time to end this, he thought as he made sure he had both his own and Voldemort's wand in his hands.

But before he could think out a way to do it he was hit across the back, and felt heat along with a lot of pain. A final trap near the village trapped his feet on top of a roof. Hermione and Ron stood before him.

"So?" he said, mouth tasting of blood, adrenaline surging through his body. He smiled. "Go on then and try. Try and kill me."

A spell from both of them hit him in the chest and he was torn free from the trap. Blood rushed out of his mouth and Harry lost his balance, fell off the roof and landed on his back. Everything went black.

-o-

Hermione jumped down and so did Ron. They held their wands trained on Harry's body. His eyes stared up at the sky, blood pouring out of his nose and mouth, hands up by his head but the grip was slack around the wands. They hadn't even noticed he had held both in his hands.

Hermione was the one to walk closer and she touched Harry's leg with a foot. He didn't react. A snowflake landed on his eye and melted.

"Ron."

He checked the body.

"There's no heartbeat," he concluded.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"We can't let him trick us," Hermione stressed, staring at Harry's face.

"Hermione, I am sure! He's gone."

"It's too easy," she said. "He went down too easily…"

"'Mione, relax! Just breathe for a moment. We'll tie the body up and bring it to the Ministry, we'll have healers check it out, okay? Just to make sure he's dead."

Hermione nodded and then burst into tears. Ron got up, embraced her and said:

"It's over now, love… it's over."

It would have been over. In fact, it _should _have been over…

Hermione shrieked as her legs were severed with a well-placed Sectumsempra, screamed as Ron's throat was partially cut open. The pain made her flail against the ground, and then she looked.

Harry, covered in his own blood, was standing. He was grinning.

"Oh, that was close," he breathed. "I think… I don't know. It just went dark for a moment."

_He died. Ron couldn't have been wrong. He died! _Hermione searched for her wand even as the pain from her stumped legs throbbed throughout her body, shuddering along her spine.

"Why do you look so shocked?" Harry wondered.

_It's so much blood coming out of him… he can't be alive._

Hermione began crying as he came closer. Ron was gagging on his own blood nearby, twitching. His hand slipped from the wound and Hermione felt she was breaking. Her world was breaking apart, solely because of Harry Potter.

"If only… you hadn't been born," she sobbed.

Harry looked at her.

"I suppose that's what you wish for now," he said. "Did you always see me as a tool, or were we friends? Perhaps as children?"

She didn't want to think about those times. She didn't want to think of Harry when they were young because that sweet boy was gone, dead. He wasn't there anymore. That awkward but kind Harry Potter she had known wasn't there anymore.

"You're not him… you're not that Harry…"

"I've always been only one Harry Potter, Hermione. But I supposed there was something wrong with me, deep inside. Perhaps Voldemort rubbed off on me. Maybe I was just born this way. My dad was cruel, a bully; maybe I got it from him."

Ron was barely moving anymore. Harry collected her wand and moved over to Ron.

"Don't you dare touch him!" she screamed.

"Try and stop me then, _'Mione_."

Hermione screamed, and screamed, and screamed as Harry murdered her husband, her only remaining happiness in this now wretched world. She was then crying, sobbing into the ground and didn't move as Harry's steps came closer. He turned her over to her back.

"Just kill me," she said bitterly. "You monster."

"Honestly, monster this and monster that. You Light people need to get more creative insults," Harry said as he leaned down over her. His blood dropped onto her face.

_He was dead… _Hermione stared up at him. What went wrong? So many things went wrong… so many things… she closed her eyes, felt his hands on her face… they were cold… she still remembered them. So thin, and always cold. Harry's hands had always been so cold.

A crack, then it was over.

-o-

Harry stood up from Hermione's corpse and staggered over to a nearby bench. Those two last spells had hit him dead on. He felt around on his chest. There was no wound, but it was still throbbing with pain.

"I'm fine," he said when the Dementors came rushing towards him. "I'm okay."

He sat still for a while and looked at their corpses. He wasn't sad, or angry. He felt rather empty at the moment, to be honest. Killing people meant nothing now. It didn't even make him happy.

"Let's go," he said, getting up. "Rabastan is probably wondering where the hell I am."

He checked his and Voldemort's wands and then added Hermione and Ron's to his collection of wands. He had quite a few now. Then he stretched and began to run, Dementors shadowing him.

Rabastan had wondered where he was, and sent him off to the bathroom the moment he stepped inside. Harry showered and stared down at the blood going down the drain. Was all of that his blood? No, he must have gotten some of Ron and Hermione's on him earlier.

He redressed in clean robes and went down to the kitchen.

"Alright, what have you been up to?" Rabastan asked.

"I killed Hermione and Ron. And now I'm hungry."

"I made pasta."

"For breakfast?"

"So what?"

"Oh well, why not?"

Harry was aware he was being watched but ate the pasta and some bread.

"You're almost done killing the Order?" Rabastan said.

"It's just small prey left," Harry mumbled around the piece of bread before swallowing. "They're nothing."

"So you won't kill them? Lucius swung by, said France is alright to live in."

Yeah, and what would he do in France? Harry looked down at his plate. There was nothing he really wanted to do. He had never thought about having a future. What would you do after killing a shitload of people? Was there anything to do?

"Potter?"

"I don't know any French."

"You could always learn."

"I don't wanna go anywhere," Harry said. "I want George to be alive again."

"Sometimes I wish Rodolphus was alive, despite him being pretty much a prick. We all miss the dead, Potter, but it won't make them come back."

"I know but I don't know what to do now."

"Live your life."

"What life?" Harry said and stood up. "I'm nothing. Just a killer. I'm going to bed."

He didn't sleep. He took out the Resurrection Stone and held it in his hand. Then he closed his eyes and thought really, really hard.

The bed didn't dip. But there was a sensation of cold, a different kind than the Dementors. Harry opened his eyes.

"Hello, mate," George's ghost said.

"Hi," Harry whispered.

"You've been busy."

"You watched? With Fred?"

"More or less the whole time."

"Are you angry with me?" he wondered.

"No, not really," George said. "But you're a bit nutty, Harry, right now."

"I think I'm more than just a bit, you twat."

George laughed. Harry felt a tear slide down his cheek to rest on the pillow below him.

"Is Fred mad at me?" he wanted to know.

"No."

"Why isn't he here?"

"Because you only called for me, you dork."

That's true. People had always called Fred and George one person, assumed that they were one. Harry had always thought of them as two individuals no matter how much they were intertwined with each other.

"Tell him I'm sorry for not thinking about him too," Harry said.

"Alright. You know, that France idea doesn't sound too bad."

"Maybe…"

Oh dear god, now his nose was clogging up. His eyes burned. George stretched out a hand but stopped just before he sank right through Harry's shoulder. Instead he tightened into a fist.

"I mean it, Harry. Don't stay here. Finish them off and then go. Be a prick to Draco, drink tea with Mrs Malfoy in Paris. Don't stay."

"I won't leave your bodies," Harry said.

"Then burn us, put us in an urn and carry it with you," George said. "That way, we'll never leave."

-o-

Rabastan didn't question why Harry burnt the twins' bodies and stored their combined ashes in an urn. He'd actually picked out the urn after Harry asked him about it.

Then they decided to visit the Malfoy family, who was in the middle of buying a property in France, whose ministry who wouldn't hand them over to the English Ministry.

"Will you be going with us?" Narcissa asked.

"We think so," Rabastan said, looking at Harry who was staring into a cup of tea. "He just needs to think it over some more."

"Small prey is still prey," he said. "The Order needs to go."

"They're nothing now," Lucius said. "Or will they become a problem later?"

"The Light is always a problem," Harry said. "Believe, I spent most of my life thinking I was one of them. No one of them fucking gives up."

"There can't be many left," Narcissa said, "but if they mix with the Aurors, you won't know who to chase."

"Then I'll collapse the whole system they have here in England, and leave them in chaos," he replied. "I've never been to France."

"I believe you will like it," she said. "A bit of sun will do us all some good."

Harry couldn't care less about sun but supposed it would be a change of scenery at least.

-o-

Oh well, that got fucked up.

Harry dodged a spell and lashed out, killing an Auror before running deeper into the Ministry. It was supposed to be the last attack. Rabastan and even Draco had tagged along.

They snuck into the Ministry with the help of Lucius since the Order held a meeting inside of it. What Harry hadn't counted on was Amelia Bones anticipating him being there. It went as well as it could, which was not at all.

He was alone for one. Before they got separated he yelled at Rabastan to get Draco out of there by any means necessary. He didn't want Rabastan or Draco to be caught. He usually managed to escape, so he wasn't too worried at first.

Now it wasn't so funny. The way behind him, back to freedom, was being cut off. Aurors and Order members alike chased him. So far, Harry managed to just stay out of their reach and had probably left behind quite a lot of bodies on the way. Amelia had been dragged away before she could partake in the chase. She looked ready to fight him herself, and for a moment he had wanted it. Now he didn't; he didn't care how many left behind, just as long as it was them and not him.

He didn't want to get killed after being cornered. Harry wanted to laugh, or cry, right now, even as he ran down hallways, escaping from those whose life he had turned into hell. He thought he didn't care about living or dying. If that truly was the truth… then why did he run?

_I want to live. Somewhere inside me, I really, _really, _want to live. What a joke!_

Harry heard footsteps behind him and ducked into a dark corner, pressed himself against the wall while suppressing his magical presence. A young Order member ran past him, alone. Had the others separated? Harry had run through a room that led to many other rooms so they probably split up in order to find him.

He began to move, not back but after the Order member. Perhaps he could use the man to get out.

The man looked behind him, and Harry smiled.

"Hi!" he said brightly even as the man paled. "You're alone, aren't you?"

He began to run. Harry set off after him. The man was fast, Harry was ready to admit that. But he kept up, kept thinking it could work. He could get out. Rabastan would yell at him, Draco could call him a stupid, self-sacrificing Gryffindor and Harry wouldn't mind one bit. He'd begin anew, in another country, another life.

The Order member ran into a room and it took Harry several moments to even look around them. High shelves, similar to those in the room with all the recorded prophecies, but here there were…

Time-turners. Small, big, glittering, completely black. Everywhere, filling so high up he couldn't even see the end of the shelves and the room seemed to stretch out forever. Their steps echoed around them.

He caught up with the Order member and tackled him to the ground. The man's terrified screams echoed around the room, seemed to set the time-turners on edge. A high-pitched whine travelled through the shelves and Harry gritted his teeth. He punched the man and then held a hand over his mouth.

"Be quiet," he hissed.

The man's arm flew over them, wand leaking magic. Harry made a grab for it but the man trashed around and with it. The magic went berserk for a moment, then abruptly cut off as Harry twisted his neck around.

Too late. He looked up as he heard noises, and saw an entire shelf coming down towards him. Time-turners rained down on him, broke apart. A hissing sound, smoke pouring out of broken bottles. Harry coughed and began to move, but bigger time-turners exploded around him and the whole shelf crashed into him.

Inside the Ministry, the air rumbled. Somewhere, people heard a distant scream. It echoed around them. Pressed against a wall, now forgotten, Rabastan and Draco looked at each other. They heard people run around, people searching for the person behind that scream.

"That was Potter just now, wasn't it?" Draco said.

The walls shook behind them. The ground trembled. And things changed.

-o-

Harry woke up and vomited. That spiked the headache in his head to reach epic proportions and he gagged, rolled away from the vomit on the ground and rested his face on the cool earth.

Which hadn't been there five minutes ago. Harry slowly looked up. He saw the river Thames nearby, buildings of some sort in the distance… but no buildings he was used to. No castles or magical villages, or even normal villages.

It was more like…

"No," he said, as he stood up on shaky legs.

Something was wrong, felt off kilter. He felt like something was missing and those buildings were weird. Why were they by the Thames?! Did someone decide to re-enact some old times, because that was…

He searched his pockets for his wand, Voldemort's, hell, _anyone's_ wand and got Voldemort's up.

"_Tempus_."

He stared at the date.

"What?" he managed. "No… no, no, no…"

He looked around. The only time he'd used a time-turner, they had simply gone back in time in the same place where they started. If that was true… he was standing…

He was standing where London one day would be. That meant, those buildings… they made up the London the Romans built, based on the people he could see moving around. That also meant, Harry was alone. For the first time, he was utterly and completely alone.

"No…" he whispered. "My Dementors… Rabastan… Rabastan?"

There was no answer. There would be no answer. Rabastan wouldn't be born for a very long time. As Harry realized this, he screamed.

Tbc…

* * *

Finally he's in the past!

Chapter fourteen: What will Harry do?

Until later,

Tiro


	14. Chapter 14

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Hi, sorry for any lateness! I've been like disconnected from fanfiction, I don't know why. Nothing bad has happened or anything; I guess I've just been busy with studies (I had to write a sonnet. I am not good at that…)

Enjoy reading!

_Gore is described here._

-o-

**Chapter Fourteen**

One Harry had recovered a little bit he Apparated purely by instinct, to a place he always knew how to get to. But of course, the only thing that met him was grass and trees. George's house wouldn't be built for a long time. Harry cried and screamed at the ground, then tore it up and away. He pounded the earth with his fists, causing the entire ground to tremble and then curled up in a ball.

He felt cold inside, cold outside. He barely noticed the tears anymore. He wanted his Dementors back. He wanted to wake up and find out it was all a really shitty dream, to be woken up by Rabastan who didn't want to be awake alone in the house. Or to be woken up by Rabastan screaming about 'those damn Dementors are breathing down my neck _again, _damnit Potter!'

Nothing happened. He didn't wake up. It wasn't a dream. Harry sat up, covered in dirt and eyes burning, a strange rage bubbling just under the surface. He wanted to reach out through time and space and squeeze the life out of that Order member. He'd resurrect the man only to kill him again, and again, and again.

"Fuck…" Harry muttered at last.

It was getting late, and chilly, and not in the way that meant Dementors were near. It was just fucking _cold_. He looked at the trees, then took out his wand. He had enough of being cold and miserable.

The shelter was crude but big enough for him. He even built a bed so he was off the ground. Done with that, he collapsed on the bed and buried his face into his arm for a few moments. He was tired, and angry, and sad.

After a while he took out his bag and started to root through it. He brought out the urn with Fred and George's ashes, so glad he had put protection around it to make sure it wouldn't be smashed.

"I think I might be royally screwed," he told the urn, voice hoarse.

He didn't think it could be fixed. Well, if he found a time-turner. But could one bring him back into the future, so many years? How did he even go back so far?

Trying _Tempus _again didn't bring Harry any relief, because it showed the same year. Putting the wand away so he wouldn't accidently blow up the shelter in sheer rage, Harry lay down and closed his eyes. He tucked the urn against his chest and wished he was home.

-o-

Okay, enough wish-thinking. Harry sat up and blinked blearily. He'd been sleeping for almost an entire day. He looked outside, making sure no one had discovered him before sitting down again on the bed. He rubbed his eyes and tucked the urn against his side.

"Any suggestions?" he asked it a while later.

No answer.

"No. I didn't think so," he continued. "Well, fuck…"

He couldn't think of anything. If he felt hollow before, it was worse now. He hated it. He really hated it.

"I wanna kill someone," he said. "But there's not much point to it anymore, is it?"

Oh, that was depressing. Harry got up and stretched. He felt icky and still tired. He felt angry and listless and Merlin, could he fucking get a break?!

Exploring the area Harry found a stream and undressed. He glanced back at the urn he brought with him to the stream.

"What?" he said. "I need to get clean."

The bag with all of his things rested on top of his robes as he cleaned off and tried to think of something positive. He didn't find many things to be positive about but hey, at least he was clean!

Maybe he should build something stronger? But what for, really? Should he just try to survive in the far, far past? Harry didn't feel like trying to get back to his own time, despite the fact he missed his Dementors and Rabastan. Bloody hell, he was even missing Draco despite the fact Draco could be a bit of a twat.

Going back to the shelter Harry felt like punching the wall. Instead he sat down on the bed and pulled some blankets around his shoulders, the urn lying on the pillow.

"Harry Potter, twenty… twenty-three, am I twenty-three? Anyway… Harry Potter, once a hero, then hated and crazy and now in fucking two-hundred AD…"

He sighed and put his head in his hands.

"Oh, fuck this…"

-o-

Days later, and Harry had mostly spent his time in the shelter. He hadn't even eaten anything. Anything he conjured or transfigured tasted horrible and made him vomit instead. He got water from the stream, but got headaches due to drinking too little. So he had set out to find something to eat, only to be found by someone he couldn't understand beyond the point that yeah, the guy was pretty pissed off about _something_. Harry wasn't sure how steady he was on his feet but the man kept advancing, now shouting. The man also carried a short sword and seemed pretty sure how to use it.

"What do you want?!" Harry screamed at last.

That had the man staring at him for a bit and then he screamed even louder, raising his sword. He began to run but by then Harry was sick of it. One slash with his wand, and the man was split open.

Harry walked up to the dying man and listened to his last, gurgling breaths with little interest. The inside of his body was red, very red… Harry kneeled down and poked at the red mess, then took one of the ribs and broke it out of the chest. The man twitched.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did that hurt?" Harry asked. "Well, shit, live with it."

He put his hand into the man's chest cavity and pushed around. It was wet and a bit unpleasant, but not as bad as he thought it would be. After all, he had pulled out McGonagall's heart by himself.

His stomach growled as he on his way to cut out the heart, the man still twitching every now and then. Harry looked at the man's half-mast eyes, the blood that had bubbled out of his mouth and nose.

"What? I can't help that I'm hungry. Should I taste your heart? Is it tasty?"

The colours were getting sharp and his head felt packed with cotton. Harry wasn't even aware he was swaying before he almost toppled over. He straightened up and held the man's heart in his hands.

"Might as well…"

Trying to eat a heart wasn't a good idea, Harry realized as he lay gagging a few moments later. He vomited out mostly bile and moaned at the dizziness.

"Okay, no raw things," he managed. "There has to be berries somewhere, or an animal I can cook…"

But his magic had suffered over the days he hadn't eaten. He wasn't sure he could manage to make a magical fire, and he had never learnt to make a normal one. Berries then, or something of the sort. Wasn't there people who ate roots?

He could try the grass, but it didn't look very appealing.

First things first, he left the body and washed off in the stream. Then he went searching for something to eat but found the man's camp not too far away from his own shelter. There the man had dried meat and berries which Harry took without shame before walking back towards his own shelter. He stopped by the stream to gather some water to bring back as well.

Stumbling into the shelter he fell back on the bed and began eating slowly. His body wanted it all, and more, but he knew from experience that wouldn't be a good thing.

After eating he reached into his bag and picked out the urn again. He turned it around in his hands. Rabastan had picked it out, so he was kind of still with Harry. He remembered the Dementors passing it between their hands, screeching in confusion. They didn't understand his need to keep someone with him so badly he burnt their corpses, storing their ashes in what was to them a fancy jar.

The mere thought of the Dementors made Harry grit his teeth against the sharp pain in his chest. He wanted them back. Now they didn't exist at all.

Right? If they did, shouldn't they find him? They called him their maker after all. Harry sat up, frustrated.

He needed more food. And then he needed to do something.

"I can't mope around," he told the urn. "And I'm so glad I put a protection shield around you so you didn't smash when I went here…"

Would using the resurrection stone work here? Or would George's and Fred's ghosts be part of a time Harry had no longer any access to? He didn't want to try. He didn't dare to try. Instead he hugged the urn to his chest and glared at the wall.

-o-

He had no idea how to make Dementors. When it came down to that, he had never gotten around to ask them how they came into existence. So now he had no idea how to make them.

But Harry had at least left the small shelter and now lived on the outskirts of a small village, in an old shack no one seemed to own. So far no one had tried to bother him, although they looked at him strangely. He didn't steal their food, well, he tried not to and made himself eat the food he conjured. It still tasted awful but it had stopped making him vomit. He had made some effort trying to blend in, wearing similar clothes to the other men and kept all of his things in his bag whenever he wasn't in the shack.

Talking to the urn was somewhat a habit, but he kept his voice down to not be seen as a lunatic. Well, if that word existed in their world. Harry had little to no knowledge of this time, only that it was more or less ancient to him and the Roman Empire was still in existence. He was in England but it was far from the England he knew.

He was starting to understand some words the people spoke, but not enough to be able to blend in language-wise.

Mostly he sat alone, speaking to the urn and turning around ideas on how to make Dementors. He wasn't getting any closer to a conclusion, or even anything to start with. How did they get born? Or did they grow, like a plant? He doubted they had genders. They were just Dementors.

"This sucks," he said one day to the urn. "I wanna try to use the stone, but I don't… I don't want to know if it doesn't work."

Hope was the last thing that deserted man. Silly but true. Harry still took out the resurrection stone, and turned it around between his fingers. He wanted to hear a familiar voice. Anything…

"But if it doesn't work…"

Harry closed his eyes and then held the stone so hard it began to hurt, wishing for Fred and George. He'd even wish for professor Snape if that was what it took.

"Harry…"

He snapped his eyes open and George smiled at him, Fred just behind him. Immediately the tears burned his eyes and he hid his face in his hands.

"Hey, hey, Harry… it's okay. Everything's okay…"

He listened to the twins, hearing them speak simultaneously for the first time in years, and began to calm down. He looked up at last, cheeks wet but sight clear. He watched them for a moment and then said:

"I'm in the past."

"I noticed, mate," Fred said. "What is this place?"

"A shack."

"This isn't a shack," George said, "it's a disaster zone."

Harry laughed a bit, glad he had challenged his own odds and betting on hope. Just seeing their ghosts was so… it wasn't like having the Dementors back, or having Rabastan by his side but he felt a bit normal now.

They couldn't stay for long. Harry knew that, but he was still upset when the twins told him they had to go.

"Just wish for us to come back, and we will," George said.

He nodded.

"I don't want to be here," he confessed. "I don't know what to do."

"Well, those Dementors aren't going to pop up by themselves," George said. "So think about that."

But he didn't know. He had no idea. How the hell did a Dementor get born? Or created, or however they got into existence. He said as much to the twins, and they both snorted.

"You'll figure it out," Fred said. "George's been updating me about everything, so if you're really their maker you will figure it out."

"How are you so sure?"

"Because they existed in the future."

Oh… well, that kind of make sense. Harry said his goodbyes and watched them fade away, waving like crazy and grinning at him. The empty shack didn't feel as lonely as it did before. Harry put the urn on the bed next to him and said:

"Alright. Dementors!"

-o-

It took him almost a week to get a decent idea, when he looked outside as some children ran past the shack. He didn't like them, they were way too happy and their laughter made him want to rip their tongues out, but one of the children carried seeds. He craned his neck to gaze after them.

Seeds. Harry sat back down on the bed, the only furniture he owned. That was the excuse he used to the twins to keep the urn tucked against his side at all times.

He held out his hand. A seed brought life. Could a seed give life to a Dementor? The mere thought of it was sort of funny.

But it was worth a try.

Magic came to life in his hand, a whirl of light as Harry focused. It wasn't like gathering magic for a spell; that was easy to do for him. This was very different. This magic pulled at him, drained him faster. Perhaps he had to start eating better.

After a while he couldn't stand to watch the whirling light and closed his hand into a fist. He held it against his forehead, focusing and hoping and wishing. He wondered if the villagers felt the magic. If they noticed something strong. Either way, they weren't coming in and that was enough for him.

"Please, please, please, _please_…" he begged, whispering the words into the darkening shack.

At some point he fell down onto the bed and lit a few candles, dragging a blanket over himself. The shack was cold, but when he opened his hand he was warmed from the inside out.

In the middle of his palm was a black seed. Harry felt like laughing but only managed a huff. He brought the seed closer and let it rest in his hand. He wasn't sure how to proceed with this, but it was a start at the very least.

-o-

People seemed to get more uncomfortable with his presence. Harry was starting to understand more of what they said, and they seemed to think him most strange. He wondered if they felt he was disturbing their peace. Frankly, as long as they didn't invade his shack he wouldn't give a shit. He'd burn the village later, when he was ready to move on. Why? Because he could, that's why.

Perhaps they even feared him even more, now when he rarely left the shack. He refused to leave, not when he had a goal in mind.

He fed the seed magic day after day. He only left to gather more food and water. He hadn't even called for Fred and George. He hoped they would understand why he was preoccupied. Because after weeks of feeding the seed magic, something was… _growing_.

Was this how parents felt? Giddy, excited… terrified? Harry didn't know. All he knew was he ate what he needed and then spent most of the day giving his little seed whatever energy it needed. It had arms and legs, and a head, but it was spindly at best.

Now he lay in bed, staring at the limbs weakly moving. It was alive, more or less but no bigger than his own hand. He cradled the creature gently and held it close, laughing breathlessly when he felt the spindly arms move to let underdeveloped fingers grasp at his clothes.

"Hello," he whispered. "You're gonna scare _so _many people."

The mouth was tiny and he allowed those thin fingers wrap around his own finger.

"Once you get a bit bigger," he added. "Right now you're kind of cute. My very own Dementor…"

He had to come up with something better, because at this pace it would take him ages to get more Dementors coming.

"I guess I have time to figure it out," he told the tiny Dementor. "It's not like I'm in a rush to get anywhere."

Two weeks passed, and when he came back from one of his tours scouring for food and water a villager blocked his path. Harry looked at him. He was big and sturdy, his nasty expression reminding Harry of uncle Vernon. Uncle Vernon with his meaty fist and his leather belt… Harry's back ached at the memory but he refused to let it take over.

The words strung together and Harry barely understood half of what the villager was saying. Something about being a nuisance. Something about leaving. So they were finally fed up with him?

When Harry didn't reply the man began to shout at him, and raised a hand. The force behind the hit made Harry stagger backwards. His lip split open, and he tasted blood in his mouth.

More villagers arrived and instead of stopping the man they circled Harry and began to scream as well. Harry felt… oh, he felt so, _so _angry…

Magic exploded outwards with his scream and they all fell back. They began to scream in fear and ran away from him. Harry moved towards the shack and raised shields around it, looked out the window. He saw them back away, wary but darkness in their eyes. They would be back.

But the main problem he had was the anger still bubbling away, and no room to release it. Harry got out the Dementor he'd hidden under the bed, safely tucked into some cloth and now he focused his attention on the small creature. He felt the hatred for the villagers grow. Hatred for his own situation. He still hated that Order member that was part of the reason he was here in the past, still wanted to reach out through time to kill that man. The hate burned through him, and he understood why some people let hate consume them.

A hand touched his face, and all the anger was drained out of him. Harry opened his eyes, unaware he had even closed them. The Dementor, just minutes ago the size of his hands, now the size of a ten-year old child.

The anger was replaced by calm. It was as if… Harry began to laugh. The Dementor pawed at his face, and then his clothes. He took the Dementor's head in his hands.

"Did you just take my anger?" he wondered. "Did you take it and made it into energy so you could grow?"

The Dementor screeched, such a familiar and beloved sound it made Harry shudder in delight. If he'd known anger and hatred made the Dementor grow he would have had a fully-grown one by now.

"Are you hungry?" he wondered.

It moved, nodded, seemed to understand him. Harry smiled.

"Go," he said. "Have a bite of Muggle."

The screams that started up just minutes after the Dementor had ventured out… that was music in Harry's ears. He packed his things and took out his wand. Then he took out Voldemort's too, and decided to make a fire.

A very large fire. Accompanied with some more of those screams, naturally. Harry's smile turned into a grin, and for the first time since ending up in the past, he felt really excited.

The houses caught on fire easily and he set some of the people on fire as well. He guessed there was no Ministry or even much of organized magical groups in this time, and went wild. People screamed. One of the women cursed him, and as a response he ripped the child from her arms and with a burst of magic, killed the boy without much drama. The mother went crazy and Harry laughed at the look on her face. He let her chase him around before finally pushing her into a burning house.

The Dementor came back to him when the village was burning and most of the screams had died out. Rotten hands settled on his shoulders. Harry didn't flinch. It was a familiar touch to him, new to the Dementor. He looked around the village, gazed at the flames rising into the bright sky.

"Do you have any suggestions on how to make more of you?" Harry wondered. The Dementor screeched softly. "No? I guess we'll have time to think about it properly. I wouldn't want you to be _alone_ after all."

With that, he left the village behind him. There would be no records on who destroyed it, but there would be whispers amongst the magical population in due time. Whispers of a nightmare, darker than all their worst fears…

Tbc…

* * *

Hope you enjoyed!

Chapter fifteen: Harry grows stronger, and grows older. But when age doesn't come to his body and he survives far more than he should, Harry begins to wonder if George had ever needed to sacrifice himself to save Harry…

Until later,

Tiro


	15. Chapter 15

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Hi, everyone! Thought I should take just a moment to tell you how awesomely happy I get when I post each chapter and see so many love it! I don't say it often enough, but I read every comment and sometimes they're the ones that make my day. So thank you for taking time to comment and/or putting this story on alert or as one of your favourites.

And now, sorry for the lateness but I hope you enjoy reading!

_Gore and violence is described here._

-o-

**Chapter Fifteen**

One year passed. Harry settled down far from any village or any sort of settlement, warding the area to discourage any Muggles from approaching and built a new shelter, this one with a few rooms and a stone floor. He had grown tired of having a muddy floor.

The rooms were cold most of the time until he put in a fireplace. He kept that room as a bedroom and kitchen, using the other rooms for storage. He had to build the furniture from scratch, and also make sure he had clothes that fit the time period. Not shabby though; he had had enough of shabby clothes. He kept it simple, and had his robes in the bag which he nowadays carried with him at all times.

You might wonder how he was doing on the Dementor front. Well, he had a few more of them now, having grown them on his own until he found a solution. The solution came with how he made them from the start.

He'd make a garden with them.

The first Dementor had screeched in confusion when he told it.

"What?" Harry said. "I plant a seed that grows into a tree and on the trees grows Dementors. It's the theory anyway, I suppose I'll fail a million times before I manage to get it right."

He sat down on the bed. The summer wasn't really that warm, and the house was made out of stone, not exactly the best material for isolating. But he had taken the habit of warming some stones each night, wrapping them in cloth and stuffing them in bed with him so when he slept it was warm and cosy around him.

"Is a garden stupid?" he asked once he'd summoned Fred and George's spirits.

"For what?" Fred wondered.

"For growing Dementors?"

"Growing… Dementors? Out of what, a flower?"

"No, a tree. I take the seed I create with my own magic to grow them one by one, and I plant it, and feed it somehow and maybe it grows into a tree that makes Dementors?"

"How the hell are you going to do that?" George wanted to know.

"I don't know that part yet, I just wanted to know if it was stupid!"

"If you succeed at it, mate, a garden's great," Fred said. "Have you tried it?"

"No, not yet. I don't know if I should direct my magic to make the seed any different. I don't want a Dementor to start growing in the cold earth, that's mean."

"Says the one who's killed what, dozens of people since he landed in the past?"

"They were annoying," Harry bit out.

Plus he had been bored. He thought that trying to figure out how to make many more Dementors grow would keep his mind busy but by _god_ how bored he had been at times. He felt he had a purpose in the future, even if that was killing people and now in the past he was just beginning to find a purpose, creating Dementors. But then what? Would he create thousands of them and make them attack people who annoyed him?

That sounded boring, so he'd been doing some killing on his own. Having other do the work for him was fine at times, but sometimes he just had to de-stress himself.

… Yeah, that was a bit weird saying or even thinking.

"Harry!"

He looked up.

"You're wasting time," George said. "Where did you wander off to?"

"I'm bored," he confessed. "I don't know what to do other than making Dementors."

"You'll figure it out, mate. You're still young."

"I'm somewhere I don't want to be."

"You don't get to do anything about it though."

"I know that," Harry said. "I just want to rant a bit. I'll try it out with the seed so you can see how it goes later?"

"Sure," Fred said. "Why don't you decorate this place a bit more?"

"With what? I've never had to decorate a place. George handled it with the house."

They didn't have an answer for that, and when Harry was alone once more he looked around. He had lived close to a year in this shelter. The furniture was rough and sturdy, barely anything done to it after he had made them. The walls were bare and Harry felt now how boring his place was. Perhaps that caused more of his boredom.

First the garden though. If he could just get a garden going… he had to succeed somehow, because in the future he knew there would be a lot of Dementors. Perhaps they'd find a way to become more after his own death. Harry had no illusions; he'd die eventually and they'd be left on their own.

He moved out of the house and looked around. He had lots of ground to break up in order to prepare for this garden. Some of the Dementors trailed after Harry as he walked around.

As Harry dug into the earth, finding out what he was dealing with, he filtered the rich soil between his fingers. He looked around; he would be doing a lot of digging in the near future.

But not right now. For now he should go find some food. Harry had no desire to try and eat something raw again. Well, he didn't actually consume anything raw but he did bite into it and that was enough to discourage him. It was easy enough to get some meat with all the animals roaming around nearby.

"Hey you lot," Harry called out. "I'm getting some meat, so go back to the shelter."

The Dementors' coldness had a tendency to scare off animals so they moved easily enough away from him, back to the shelter where they hovered, waiting for his return. Harry Apparated and took out his wand. He was getting better with wandless magic but the hunting part was still a bit of a hassle.

Harry missed three animals, distracted at the thought of a garden and by the time he had a deer with him back to the shelter it was getting dark. He lit a fire and cut the deer outside. Once inside he pulled a thick robe around his shoulders and sat near the fire as the deer cooked. The Dementors moved through the rooms, pushing cold winds around him every once in a while.

Even as he lay down to sleep he thought about the garden, how the hell he would accomplish it. Start with a seed obviously… then water it? With normal water? Harry wondered if it was too cold outside to succeed, but then thought _Screw it, I'm trying it anyway._

The cold outside annoyed him so he moved the bed closer to the fire, shoving a Dementor aside at the same time.

"Will you stop moving around?" he wondered. "The draft is keeping me awake."

The Dementors moved closer to him and he fell asleep to the sound of their voices, nightmares to others… soothing to him.

-o-

Well, the first garden was a failure. He planted the seeds he had created, and all that happened was that the earth turned black and dry, no matter how much water he had given them.

Harry still got tired after creating each seed, and he was sick of thinking on other ways to try creating the garden. He needed a break. The garden idea was still reasonably fresh but he had spent the last few weeks planning and thinking of nothing else but that so he was mentally exhausted. He needed to do something else, or he'd go crazy… perhaps destroy a village out of pure need to do _anything _else.

So he turned to thinking about Inferi. When were they made? Had they already been made in this time? Harry wasn't sure, but he wanted to try it now. Seriously, how hard could it be?

Killing someone was easy. Harry had no troubles with that, and made sure to do it somewhere remote where he wouldn't be bothered.

Once he had the body before him, he wondered how he was supposed to wake it up as a corpse. Harry sat in front of the body and pondered on this for a while. The Dementors hovered around him and finally he looked at them.

"What?" he snapped.

They reared back a bit, then came even closer.

"You're crowding me!" he told them but they stayed exactly where they were. Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Okay, here goes nothing…"

He made a few waving motions at the corpse and said:

"Rise!"

He let the hands flop down, not surprised over the fact it didn't work.

"Is it like with Parseltongue, you have to mean it?" he wondered. "Imagine it? Ooh, creepy… but then so am I nowadays so let's try that…"

He raised his hands and closed his eyes. A minute passed. He glanced down. The corpse had moved, or was… yes, it was moving. But then it stopped.

"Well… that was something at least," he told the closest Dementor. He was hugged from behind as a response. "If this is some sort of pity-hug, I don't want it."

He was hugged tighter and concluded that no, it wasn't a pity-hug. When the Dementor let him go Harry hauled the corpse over his shoulder, staggered a bit under its weight and then straightened up.

"Well, we better be off then! I think I need to build another room in my shelter… one made for experiments."

He had a feeling he wouldn't be quite as bored in the future.

-o-

Harry's most vivid dreams had involved the time when Voldemort was alive, and was due to their connection to one another. Before the most intense period, the last years of school, and after it he didn't dream much.

So he wasn't sure why he was dreaming so intensely now. It didn't matter. He just knew he hated what the dreams were about.

He had never really spoken about uncle Vernon beating him. At first he didn't know what to say. Later he had concluded no one would try and help him anyway. He never spoke about how much it hurt to be hit as a child by a man Vernon's size. Or how much it hurt to listen to both Vernon and Petunia about their hatred of magic… their hatred of him.

What he knew now was how much he hated waking up, remembering his childhood. Remember the pain and the broken arm Vernon had given him when he was six. Harry curled up on the bed. He wanted to scream.

Instead he clawed at his arms and went to take out his anger on someone else before going back home and work on that garden. He wasn't going to waste his time growing the Dementors one by one. He wanted to have many roam around. He wanted them to scare everyone away from him. Harry, since ending up in the past, had found a desire to be left alone now when he didn't have Rabastan or the Malfoys nearby.

The nightmares were part of it too. Harry found he got angrier whenever he was around people for a longer period of time, and the nightmares were more profound. It was like uncle Vernon was still shouting at him somewhere without giving a shit about what Harry wanted.

Then one day he was near some people and one of them looked like Vernon for a brief moment. Harry stood frozen and wondered if the Dursleys would _ever _leave him alone. Someone laughed, and it was Dudley's laugh. A woman had Petunia's horse-like face and Harry lashed out.

It was a small settlement but they screamed a lot. Harry found that the sounds seemed to drown out the thoughts about the nightmares and therefore made sure some of them screamed extra loud. When he was done, he didn't see anyone moving at first.

But then… a child curled up in his mother's dead embrace. Harry tilted his head and watched the boy cry quietly. Harry didn't feel sorry for him. He was just glad the nightmares and the Dursleys were gone from his thoughts, so he turned and walked away.

He washed off the blood and dirt in a stream and wondered if he should get a tub or something. He could make water easily enough, but it was a pain to move to a stream every time he needed to wash. When he started working on the garden in earnest he knew he'd get dirty and so it would be better if he got a tub.

Well, made one. He wasn't sure anyone knew how to make one for him. One of the Dementors screeched softly and he said:

"Nothing's wrong, I was just thinking."

It continued.

"What? The water isn't that cold, I'm fine. Don't worry."

He knew he was unreasonably calm considered what he had just done. How many had he killed? Ten, twenty… more? He didn't know, and it didn't matter to him. It didn't bother him either and he didn't want it to bother him because that would mean his days were very boring. Then he wouldn't have bothered creating Dementors because hey, they were sort of made to kill people.

"Hey…" he said aloud. "Where do the souls you devour go? Do you like… eat them?"

The Dementor screeched and waved its arms for a while and Harry listened with furrowed brows.

"Seriously?" he said once the creature was done. "How come that happened without me knowing it? I made you guys!"

He got dressed and the Dementor floated over to him.

"That's seriously what happens to the soul?" he said. "Did you guys make that work or…?"

He got the Dementor version of a shrug and grinned.

"I don't care," he said. "If that's what happens, it's wicked!"

-o-

Time moved funny, according to Harry. In Azkaban, it had slowed down. Free and with George, it had flown past. The first few months in the past, it was like time had stopped.

Now it was flowing again and Harry had failed to make a garden twenty-seven times in a row. He just couldn't get it right. He had the correct seeds that would make a tree, but he had no way of feeding the trees so that they grew Dementors from scratch.

Also, he puked the seeds up now. Disgusting but efficient. Well, that was what Fred said it was, and Harry had to kind of agree with him. It didn't feel very good vomiting them up but instead of creating them one by one he could vomit a handful at the time. He had tried creating a handful of them in his, you know, _hand _but that didn't work because he was Harry Potter; things never really worked out the way he wanted it to do.

So when the trees failed to produce Dementors for the twenty-seventh time Harry kidnapped a few easy victims to wash off his frustration with. Once upon a time that would have alarmed him. But that was once upon a time; he'd changed. He also didn't really want to change back to the person he was before. He felt that would be very boring.

The Dementors liked to hover around him even when he was digging through a body, and his elbows tended to push into their gaunt chests when they wouldn't move out of the way.

"That's kind of disturbing," George's spirit told Harry.

"Then why did you come when I called?"

"Because you don't do it often enough! But did you really have to call on me when you're digging around in someone's chest?"

"I guess I could have waited for it a bit…"

"Well, you're not always using that head of yours to think ahead."

"Professor Snape would definitely agree with you on that," Harry said as he pulled out the heart. "Want a taste?"

"What? No! Not that I can try it anyway. You eat it!"

"I've already attempted to eat one; I didn't actually consume anything because it was too chewy."

"That's weird," George concluded. "What are you doing?"

Harry was poking around the heart, hands slick with blood.

"I'm thinking," he answered.

"Got any ideas with that heart?" George said. "Please don't eat it."

"I'm not hungry," Harry said absently. "I just… what would happen if I put the seed into the heart before I plant the seed?"

"Where the hell did that idea come from?"

"It just came, alright?!"

The twenty-eighth time the trees were gnarly and twisted, and looked rotten, no where near the trees he had grown before. Harry stared at them as the Dementors moved around them. A few of the branches twitched, like they had a mind of their own.

"What…? Did I… did I do it?"

He had been trying to grow a Dementor garden for the better part of three years and all he had to do was put the seed in a heart first?

"Well, that is stupid," he said. "But hey, it's growing! Cool. I'm going to grow Dementors."

Twenty-eight years old as well. Was twenty-eight his lucky number? Harry had no idea, didn't care; he had the feeling that either way, life would become much more interesting from now on.

-o-

Garden number twenty-eight was perhaps the first success but Harry always worked to improve it, and by the time he was thirty-two he took whole bodies, put the seed into the heart and watered the trees with blood.

They were getting livelier too, the trees. They never attacked him, but he had watched them tear people apart.

A few of those people had been "his", so to speak. Harry admitted that was a catastrophic failure, trying to make people his but those people earned to be brainwashed!

For some reason, he had become someone's enemy. It was bound to happen, with the amount of people he'd snatched and killed over the years. Harry didn't particularly care as he usually captured those who tried to take him into custody, or those he found annoying, or those who reminded him of people he hated. It was a good thing there was no Ministry of Magic in this time; he would have a harder time kidnapping people if someone like Amelia Bones had been around.

He had returned people too. He had sort of returned them anyway; it was just too funny not to try it out. He took people's minds apart, destroyed them and then sent them home. He liked the looks on the families' as they realized the people they loved were lost to them. Perhaps alive in body but dead in mind.

The Dementors proved to help with his reputation of an evil man. When he was thirty years old, he heard someone refer to him for the first time as a nightmare. Due to his clothing, some considered him a lord.

Harry laughed at that. At seventeen, he killed the Dark Lord Voldemort. At age thirty, he was considered a dark lord himself.

"The Nightmare Lord?" he had said one day to the Dementors. "Why are you calling me that all of a sudden?"

Screeches accompanied with a lot of arm waving. He raised an eyebrow at the Dementors, his children.

"You think I should call myself the Nightmare Lord?" he said at last. "It sounds sort of funny… but perhaps more impressive than Harry. Then again, they don't know me as Harry… what do you think? Should I do it?"

The Dementors shrugged and screeched some more. Harry hummed and poked at some exposed nerves in a person's arm, watching the man flinch.

"What do you think, my good sir?" he said. "Should I be known as the Nightmare Lord?"

"Monster…"

"That's a very boring title," Harry said. "I just might have to punish you for saying that."

"You're a monster!"

"Okay, punishment it is."

Harry didn't stop anyone from calling him a nightmare. In fact, he encouraged them and wondered briefly when life had gone so wrong. Then he stopped thinking about it. It had been done, and he no longer cared about the boy who once wanted to do good. The boy who saw a cupboard as his room and was half-starved purely because he had magic.

-o-

Harry thought about something from time to time after he passed thirty. He didn't really get much older. Well, what he meant was that he didn't _look _older.

He compared himself to Remus, and Sirius, and even Snape when he didn't age like they did, but then again, those three probably wasn't the best to think about. They all got old before their time, Remus being a werewolf, Sirius as a prisoner and Snape as a spy… they aged quicker than others, Harry had heard people say once. Sirius for example, his looks was due to twelve years in Azkaban. As a young man, he'd been handsome. After Azkaban he was an old man with haunted eyes.

Remus had always looked haggard so he was no good either, and Snape… the spy thing probably stressed him. People said he looked much older than he was. Harry didn't want to put too much thought into the fact he didn't get older whenever he looked into a mirror.

He no longer looked like Harry Potter but he didn't get wrinkles. His hair didn't get any grey strands. It was like time had stopped, at least when it came to his appearance.

"Magic, maybe?" George's spirit suggested. "You're vain, mate."

"I am?" Harry said. "I didn't think I was."

"Everyone wants to look their best," George said with a shrug while Fred was playing by pushing his hand through Harry's chest over and over again. "Isn't that uncomfortable?"

"A bit chilly," Harry admitted, "but nothing compared to Dementors."

It took a while for Harry to actually realize why he didn't age. Like, it took a few more years. Years of improving the Dementor gardens, creating Inferi and testing how he could make people his. Years of speaking to creatures whose speech was nightmare-inducing, and ghosts he wished could stay with him for longer periods. At least a few times a year he wondered if he should just kill himself to be with them.

But then came the day. Harry got up, checked up on the trees before eating some breakfast. Then he decided to explore a bit and Apparated away.

However, he wasn't prepared for any attacks. He was just so used to be left alone that the attack came out of nowhere. One moment he was just walking and the other blood poured out his mouth as a spell ripped open his chest. He fell to the ground to the sounds of Dementors shrieking and then people screaming. A few sounds of people Apparating away and Harry twitched his hand. He couldn't get a grip on his wand, felt his hands shake already with the loss of blood. His vision grew darker and he thought _So this is the end. This is where I end. What a short nightmare I was…_

But it was only natural. He hadn't read anything about a nightmare person in the history book in the future. Harry didn't have that much luck that he'd live for a long time as a dark lord. He was Harry Potter after all; fate seemed to hate him most of the time.

He managed to touch the wound. Slick, warm blood, and then his own heart. Its beat was slow, getting slower, and his hand slid down back to the ground.

_At least I get to see Fred and George all the time instead of just a few… _

Harry felt the cold settle and the world vanished.

-o-

An open plain under a bleak morning sun. Dark shadows moved, screeching and touching each other's hands, petting faces. Some of them stayed near their maker.

The plain was littered with bodies, alive but still dead. They breathed, but they would never speak. Their eyes were open, but they could no longer see. Living corpses, their souls lost forever. That was their punishment for what they had done to the Dementors' maker, the Nightmare Lord. A few managed to escape but most of them had paid with their souls for what they had done.

At last the Dementors gathered around him. It had been two hours since his heart stopped beating. These creatures knew this; they had seen the exposed heart stop. The blood was drying on the pale skin, and Harry's eyes stared up at the sky.

But just as they moved to pick him up, take him back to the shelter that was his home, Harry coughed and began to gasp for breath. The wound was stitching itself back together rapidly, the heart beating wildly against the ribs. Harry spit blood onto the ground and tried to get up but screamed at the pain. The Dementors supported him, held his chest together as he healed, magic pouring itself into his very cells.

In the end he lay slumped against two of the Dementors, panting for breath. A few minutes passed with the Dementors petting every part of him they could reach, and then Harry's raspy voice:

"What happened?"

They struggled to explain, screeching out their stories and Harry listened.

"What?" he said. "I did… what, my chest…?"

He touched the newly healed skin. The gaping wound was gone. Harry remembered very well it had been there, he had dipped his fingers into that gaping wound and touched his own dying heart.

The heart that was now beating. Beating again.

"I died," he said. "I'm pretty sure I did. And then… I came back to life?"

_But that's impossible, I haven't done anything to make sure I can't die…wait a minute…_

Harry remembered. He remembered when he ate the poison Molly Weasley had disguised and given him. Remembered everything had gone black and silent, and then came back in this fashion. Everything was so loud and bright. He remembered the prophecy, ancient history as it should be, and thought…

_What if it meant the only one who could kill me was Voldemort, and vice-versa? Only he could kill me, and only I could kill him and since I killed him… I took away the only one able to kill me._

Molly Weasley had killed him, there in Azkaban. It just hadn't stuck. The same way this wound, this wound that should've killed him, hadn't killed him.

"But that means…"

George's face flashed by.

"George didn't have to die," he realized.

Underneath them, the ground shook for a moment. Harry stared into nothing. He felt like he was being swallowed up by a great big nothing and somewhere, someone was laughing at him. Laughing at poor Harry Potter who didn't understand a thing until it was too late and _had I known I couldn't die I wouldn't have allowed George to sacrifice himself and oh my god, he didn't have to die._

Rocks lifted from the ground, and soon the bodies followed. Magic came in waves and Harry curled up. The Dementors screeched softly, putting hands on his back.

_George didn't have to die, George didn't have to die, George didn't have to die, George didn't have to die-_

_He didn't have to fucking die because apparently I can't die._

Harry screamed.

People nearby would end up commenting that the earth trembled a bit underneath their feet, but that was all. They would nervously await another tremble and relax when nothing more came.

However, there was a plain that was now a crater. Bodies had been flung away, and ripped apart by magic. The Dementors, not being humans, were perfectly alright although a bit confused. They had been slung backwards with the explosion of magic.

As it was now, they moved towards the centre of the crater. Trees further away had been blown to the ground. Stones floated in their air, twisting around slowly. But their focus was on their maker in the middle of the crater, curled up on the ground, eyes closed.

Once they started shaking him, green eyes opened. He sat up and groaned.

"I'm alright," he said. "What's going on?"

They explained in a language only he understood, but now he was frowning. For once he was frowning at them.

"I don't understand…" he said eventually. "Who's George Weasley?"

Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, a lock snapped in place and the Nightmare Lord lost his past.

Tbc…

* * *

Not a lot of action, but progress in the story!

Chapter sixteen: The past may be lost, but the nightmares this lord suffers causes a new game to be invented; Muggle hunting. The magical population starts to hunt him down, but few of them realize how dangerous this dark lord could be.

See you later,

Tiro


	16. Chapter 16

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

If anyone for any reason are wondering when this story will end… I couldn't tell you. But I will tell you this; no time soon. I think this story will continue for quite some time, and yes, I will torture Harry some more…

As for when it will end, when he gets imprisoned or later? I haven't decided yet, so that'll be a surprise for us all!

Anyway, enjoy reading!

_Gore and violence is described here._

-o-

**Chapter Sixteen**

One would imagine a dark lord's home to be a foreboding place. A place with many towers and great, large dungeon of course. There would be dangerous creatures guarding the grounds and an awful amount of screaming and naturally, lots of blood and guts.

Instead there was a garden filled with twisted trees, and a rather small, cramped house, and the only one providing the screaming at that very moment was the Nightmare Lord himself.

When he woke himself up, covered in cold sweat, it was still early. He lit a fire with a wave of his hand but what he really wanted to do was smash something up. Instead he dug his nails into the palms of his hands until the pain spiked up through his arms.

The lord didn't know who the man in his dreams was, but it was a huge one and no matter how strong he felt during the day, he was a mere child in his dreams, unable to fight back. This man had a demonic presence, and a loud voice.

This man used words such as 'freak' and 'monster' to describe the lord when the lord dreamt, and if there was something the Nightmare Lord hated it was those words. From others, they were boring… from this one man, with meaty fists and pale, blue eyes, they were an insult. They were the man's names for the Nightmare Lord and he hated it.

"I'm fine," he told the Dementor who had come into his room. "It's the same dream… always the same dream."

Six months ago something had happened. The Nightmare Lord wasn't sure what it was, but it ended up with the Dementors trying to explain something he had no idea about.

They had mentioned names, George Weasley, and Harry Potter but when the Nightmare Lord had tried to think about those names, and what he had forgotten, it hurt. So he locked it away. He didn't bother searching. If something hurt just to think about, why would he try to remember it at all?

The lord got up from bed and started heating water for some tea. He wouldn't be getting anymore sleep; he never did after those dreams. He hadn't gotten a lot of sleeping done in six months either due to the frequent dreams, and he was getting angry about it.

Also, he was afraid. Sometimes, when he went some place where there were people, he could hear the man. He could hear the voice, or the laughter. He could hear the insults, but found only shadows when he turned around to find this mysterious man.

It was growing annoying. He hated being afraid. What use was fear? Fear made him nervous, made him flee. Fear was useless to him, yet he experienced it every day. For every day he hated it more, and hated himself for not being able to push it away.

He pulled the hot water from the fire and sighed, sitting down on the bed again. Something had felt off ever since whatever happened six months ago. He found himself not knowing his name, never remembering if he had one, and holes in his memory. It was like he hadn't existed for long but that was stupid, right? He had to have been born and grown up, right?

Only thing was, he saw children sometimes and never remembered being one. Only in the dreams, and those couldn't possible be real… right? Perhaps the truth lay in those things that hurt to think about, but the one time he tried the hardest he ended up passing out from the pain. He didn't want to remember. Whatever he had lost, apparently he didn't want to remember ever having it in the first place.

Then there were these… objects. Things that he didn't remember getting. A container filled with ashes. Something stopped him from throwing the ashes away though, and something kept him from having the container away from him for too long.

Then there were wands, three in particular. He recognized one as his, one was bone-white and the third… was strong, was _his _but not his. The lord hadn't used any of them for some time now, and kept them stored away with the container in a handy bag that he could fill with practically anything without the space running out.

In that bag he had books, books he didn't know how he got them but he liked them. Then he had a preserved heart in a jar, some sort of invisibility cloak and a stone. He had no idea what the stone did, but he kept it anyway.

Actually, he had no idea why he kept it all. Something stopped him from throwing any of that away? Like what, a gut feeling? The Nightmare Lord had no idea what to believe, and it was pissing him off.

He drank the tea and stared up at the roof. A lord should have a castle… he knew that from somewhere. It was like a requirement… had been, somewhere, he had thought that at some point…

But when?

"Should I get a castle?" he asked.

The closest Dementor made a soft sound, and the lord smiled.

"I deserve a castle? That's nice of you to say. I don't think people would agree with you."

Perhaps they'd build a castle on top of his grave so he had to lift in order to get out. The lord laughed quietly and lay back on the bed to watch the day start outside. He wondered if people had started farming, or taking decisions, or whatever normal people did with their days. Certainly not thinking about him, or fearing he'd come and destroy their insignificant little lives.

The lord was feared by some wizards and witches, and they called him the Nightmare Lord but it wasn't enough. They didn't fear him enough. When he walked down the streets of some magical community, they didn't recognize him. The lord wanted them to recognize him and move away from him. It was one of his greatest joys, seeing people fear him.

When the sun had risen and the birds were singing outside, the Nightmare Lord rose up again. He washed off and dressed. The Dementors covered the grounds; this place was getting a bit small for them, as they refused to leave his side for long and he didn't want to cut down more trees. It would leave his place way too open.

He had his garden but each tree had a good deal of space around it, since the branches had a tendency to fight with one another over a meal. Now he walked over to them and checked them over to see if they needed to be fed anytime soon.

"In a day or two I suppose…" he muttered as he checked the earth. "But the garden is killing the soil… well, they're making Dementors out of rot, I shouldn't be that surprised."

So tomorrow he should go out and kidnap some people. Routine work. The lord was bored. What the hell did people do to pass the time?

-o-

Being annoying apparently. The Nightmare Lord looked around. Since he was planning on seeing what people did, he had to come alone without any Dementors, and therefore people paid little attention to him. He had even dressed down and put on a cloak.

These ones were Muggles though. He should have checked a magical community, because what possibly could he have in common with _Muggles_?

Laughter, and the Nightmare Lord turned around. It was that man, the man from his dreams…! That horrible, rotten, big oaf of a man that kept plaguing his dreams. The man who had no magic, nothing but fists and yet he won every time.

_I know who he is, I know it, I truly do know but why can't I hear his name?! _

Then a women turned around and he saw a women screaming at him, _freak, monster, I wish you never came to our doorstep you ruined our lives, our perfectly ordinary life you're a disease and I hate you! _

He lashed out at the woman on the street, the one who was the woman in his dreams and thoughts yet it wasn't her, and people screamed as she fell over, clutching her cut throat. No one had seen him as the attacker, but they would probably notice something was wrong since he couldn't walk straight. Her voice wouldn't go away.

_She's nothing as well, just a Muggle, just like him with the fists but why do they always win over me?! I don't understand why I can never win against them and why do they always keep me locked up and why can't I just remember their names?!_

The pain seared through his head, sharp and unpleasant. The memories struggled to come up but with them came pain and knowledge that _you don't really want to remember, not now, not later, perhaps never because THEY HURT_.

The Nightmare Lord screamed as the pain was enough to make him go blind. Someone grabbed him and he pulled free, staggering away. Someone else hit him, calling out he was the one to hurt the woman, it must be him because he was acting strangely, he was a stranger to them and the Nightmare Lord was pushed to the ground. Someone kicked his stomach, another pulled at his clothes and when the lord looked up he saw a man stand over him, fist raised. His eyes widened.

_The man's shadow was worse than the night, standing over him with a fist raised. Hit hard enough to make his lip bleed… a purple face, a grin filled with teeth and half-eaten food… some kid stuffing his face, not even caring._

"_You're nothing, you little freak. You hear me? Nothing!"_

And the Nightmare Lord had a word for him now, the demon in his head and dreams.

_Uncle._

The lord pushed away the Muggles with magic and howled. The memories were drowned by darkness, pulled away from his head and locked away where they wouldn't hurt him but the uncle stayed, the uncle and the aunt and he supposed that made them family.

_I don't want family like that. Why are they family? How can they be?_

He got up and gathered magic in his hands. The screams were annoying. The Muggles were annoying. This uncle and aunt of his were Muggles, and so far he had never met Muggles as bad as they were…

But then again, he couldn't remember he met any nice ones either. With that he grinned and set his magic loose on the Muggles around him.

When he came back to his shelter he only washed off the blood and then fell into bed. For the first time in six months, he slept without dreaming.

-o-

The Nightmare Lord didn't hesitate after that. Hunting the Muggles down in that village, destroying them, it had helped with his dreams. But he couldn't go after whole Muggles villages and towns, that would be… idiotic? Plus, he'd be running out of Muggles at some point.

So he took to the habit of snatching a few from here and there and then chased them around. It was fun exercise between feeding the trees, and thinking about creating new things. Sometimes he just needed to get the energy out of him, burn off some magic on something fun.

Killing people was boring. Trying out new methods to kill them… that was more interesting and the Nightmare Lord was willing to do a lot to stave off boredom and the dreams. When he went to bed after an uneventful day, his uncle came back, just as big, just as pathetic but still winning.

It was like this uncle was a demon, or a parasite that had dug its claws into the Nightmare Lord's head. Whatever he did he couldn't get rid of those dreams normally. He tried and experimented but mostly failed and ended up trying to sleep with a splitting headache.

At one point he just swallowed poison and ended up passing out for two days. The Dementors had not been impressed and he wasn't any well-rested once they managed to get him up and going.

"Poison's out," he said, adding it to his notes. "Well, that type of poison is out… there are other ones that… that I will not test right now."

The Dementors had crowded him and the Nightmare Lord cleared his throat.

"I won't test them!" he said. "Right now. Alright? Relax, you lot. Anyway… oh, I can't think. Why can't I just cut him out? I seemed to have managed that with the rest of my memories, why did he have to stick with me?!"

He could try mind tricks, only he had to figure out how to do said mind tricks. Until then, he'd stick with Muggle hunting. That at least was fun, and it was easy to come up with new ideas on that.

It became sort of a sport, Muggle hunting. The Nightmare Lord heard of others trying the same thing, and didn't care. They could do it as long as he wasn't bothered, or someone tried to take his prey. Because if they did, he killed them. Only one had been foolish enough to try.

A young man, filled with confidence since he had killed a few Muggles, tried to get away with the Nightmare Lord's victims. The Dementors had screeched and moved towards the young man who lost all signs of being superior. He was screaming for help within minutes. The Nightmare Lord left his severed head on a pole, just for fun, and took the rest with him.

Making corpses move was fun too, so he sometimes did that while Muggles were watching. Their screams were enjoyable, and the way their eyes bugged out, the way they clawed at the walls of their cells… fun times.

The lord made it happen with the headless corpse, and the three young women kept in the same cell started screaming and crying at the sight. He still hadn't figured out how to make the corpses keep moving after he took away his own magic, so this was good practice, he got to try different things. So far most corpses only lasted moments, and at the most a minute when he let the magic retreat from them.

A man in another cell banged on the steel bars, screaming at him:

"Leave them alone! Leave those poor women alone!"

"I'm not actually doing anything to them," he replied. "They decided to scream all on their own."

"You monster!"

"Yes, I've heard that one before. Many times before. You're boring. So you'll be the next one to terrify these lovely young ladies."

How to infuse magic in the corpses and then make it stay? Or did he have to invent a spell? A spell directly for moving a corpse? But he wanted it to last. Once he cast the spell, he wanted it to be permanent. Therefore not even the Nightmare Lord should be able to undo it.

"You are a beast, and a coward! You are a murderer!"

The man's shouting was distant in his ears as he moved his fingers, making the corpse move as if it was a puppet. The women screamed again, huddling against the wall, as far away from the corpse as possible.

_I should get a bigger place, _the Nightmare Lord thought, distracted from the now boring scene. _I need proper space for experimentation. A whole dungeon of space, and then above it a house I can live in. A house with large room, open spaces… I don't want anything cramped._

He moved his fingers and the corpse spun around, falling over. He watched it twitch on the ground for a bit before stilling.

"Oh well… next one," he said and turned to the man who now backed away from the bars. "No, no, good sir, that won't do. Besides, it's not like you can run away from _me_."

-o-

The Nightmare Lord was by no means stupid. Foolish and taking risks yes, but not stupid. He knew kidnapping Muggles would gain someone's attention, good or bad. He knew the longer he continued, the likelier was the chance of some "good" wizards and witches trying to find him and stop him, in the name of… something good.

So he wasn't surprised when it happened. He was a bit more surprised how many they were, and how a few looked to be part of a family. But he let them spread out around him, wands trained on his person. He smiled a bit, showing his empty hands.

"All of you are after me?" he wondered. "How lovely. Did someone tell you to be good girls and boys and capture me?"

"You are disturbing the peace," one man said. "Your actions have led to others imitating you, causing panic amongst Muggles. Therefore we have come to the decision to kill you before further chaos can be had."

"Lovely. Go ahead, try it."

"What?"

_I guess not a lot of people expect that answer from someone they're threatening…_

"I mean it," the Nightmare Lord said. "Try it. Try and kill me."

He spread his arms.

"I will allow the first spell. If that doesn't kill me, I get to do whatever I want and you get to do whatever you want. Fair's fair."

The group glanced between one another before another man stepped up and moved until he stood in front of the Nightmare Lord.

"I will not kill you from behind."

"Why, how noble you sound… ridiculous though. It's not like anyone will care. Murder is murder."

"You have murdered many people."

"I never said I hadn't."

The lord didn't recognize the spell, but it hit him square in the chest and the magic exploded. Blood flooded his mouth but he felt his body reject the foreign magic, working fast to regenerate what he was losing and he laughed. His own magic soared and made him feel drunk. The wound in his chest was healing rapidly.

"I said you could try," he spoke to them, all with confused and horrified faces. "I appear to have neglected to mention I am immortal."

One swipe, and the man who had spoken first was split open, his bowels spilling out whilst he was still alive. Another, and the man who attacked him was thrown back. The fight was on.

The Nightmare Lord's magic came in waves, trying to heal him, trying to fight. The pain made him scream in delight at the feeling of _living, living, I'm alive, I _feel _alive _and he couldn't stop himself from personally tearing into people. It was a mess. It was a massacre. It was just what he loved to see. Blood and carnage, screams of fear. Fear of _him_.

In the end, there was only one left. A young woman, daughter of the man who had thrown the first spell, and she spat in his face as he held her down on the ground. The Nightmare Lord grinned and let his blood drip down on her face. She tried to move away.

"You're a fierce one," he commented. "You blocked my spells very well, and you can't be that old."

"So what?!"

"So _everything_. Perhaps you can work for me…"

"I'd rather die!"

"Oh, you will work for me…" the Nightmare Lord said. "Eventually."

He took her with him, and left a bloodbath behind.

-o-

She would make a good servant. He hadn't experimented a lot with that, so busy with the Muggle hunting and trying to revive corpses but she was perfect; he could tell that from the start.

But his techniques weren't perfect, so he had to make sure they were before he started digging through her brain in order to change her from a captive to a willing servant under his rule.

Under his rule…!

"I'm starting to sound like… someone I think I know about," he told one Dementor three weeks after he had kidnapped her. "He was a mean bastard too, with a… snake-face? Why do I think of snakes and faces in one when I think of this… person? Do you know? No? I guess it's not that important then… Oh well, whatever, I better get busy."

He didn't just let her hang around. When he wasn't busy he made sure to weaken her bit by bit. Her mental shields were strong though, and physical torture was something she endured well. Only for the better; he wouldn't want a servant who couldn't handle a bit of violence.

In the meantime he worked on perfecting the manipulation, using both wizards and witches. As he had no real need to kill them, he changed them. Some in small ways, others in larger ways, until the only thing that remained the same was how they looked.

After that he didn't have much use of them. He could have just killed them, or let the Dementors snack on them. At first he did, using their blood to feed the garden. But when he got better at it, he got an idea.

One middle-aged wizard snatched from his home had been changed so that the sight of his loved ones sent him into madness. This after the man had insulted the Nightmare Lord, and the lord had seen the… _love _he had for his family.

It was entertaining to watch, the joy on the loved one's faces turning into horror as the man screamed and clawed at his head. Then he tried to gouge his own eyes out, screaming it was the only way to stop the madness. The lord left them to handle it themselves.

Another was a young woman, but with her he left her blank. Just a blank human being, her soul still there but unable to connect with the rest of her body. Someone skilled in reading human minds might be able to hear her screaming deep, deep inside. Maybe they'd kill her, thinking it was mercy, and only she would know it wasn't.

He left a trail of destroyed minds behind him before he felt ready to create his first, real servant. But first… he'd better ask her name.

By now she was hanging in shackles, shivering, eyes vacant and body covered in old scars. He lifted her chin so he could look at her. He broke into her mind easily enough, as he had done for the last few weeks. She was hiding from him, terrified, desperately wishing they'd never gone after him.

"I bet you aren't the only one to think that," the Nightmare Lord said. "What is your name?"

Her lips moved. No sound came out.

"Louder, please."

The name however made him rear back and clutch his head and all he saw was _aunt with something heavy in her hand, harsh words, slapping his face and it stung but she wouldn't even let him drink some water and she always locked the door to that small space and she and uncle laughed when he screamed for them to let him out._

He collapsed against the floor opposite of the woman. His harsh breathing echoed between stone walls. A Dementor helped him stand up.

"That won't do," he said. "I'll destroy that name. I don't like it. Don't worry… I'll give you a new one."

"No…"

"Yes, I'll make you forget you ever had that name…"

"No," and now she tried to get her head away from his hands but the Nightmare Lord grabbed it.

"I'll rip out your tongue if you dare to protest anymore," he hissed. "You will not argue with me."

She moaned and started crying. It was annoying and he let her go, disgusted with both her and himself. He pushed back his hair.

"I'll make you forget that name," he promised her, and reassured himself at the same time.

From the shackles to a stone table, and she stopped resisting half-way through. The Nightmare Lord didn't mind. She'd fought well enough. All she had to do now was stay still. It wasn't like she'd remember any of the torture he had put her through.

"You'll forget many things, but don't worry… I'll make sure you don't feel sad about it."

"Why?" she asked. "Why me…?"

"Because you're useful."

"My father… stronger than me…"

"Uglier," he said with a shrug. "Your face is better."

He had a feeling he should feel bad about this whole thing. He was destroying who she was, and rebuilding her personality into something he wanted her to be. At some point, perhaps he would have protested. He had the feeling he once was that kind of person. But those times were long since gone, and all he did now was making sure she couldn't move before delving into her mind, shattering all she was and rearranging the broken pieces so they fit what he wished for.

For the first hour, she shook and trembled all over. For the second hour, he was the one shaking. As the third hour came to an end, it was done and she slipped into a natural sleep. The Nightmare Lord rose, and then fell against the stone table. Dementors held him steady, as his legs shook with exhaustion.

"That took more magic than I expected," he muttered. "But then again, I put a lot of new things into her head. One of you watch her."

He dreamt of nothing but comforting darkness that night, his mind too drained to conjure images of uncle and aunt, demon and the demon's wife.

The Nightmare Lord slept well into the day, waking when the afternoon sun shone into the room. He sat up and said:

"Has she woken?"

A negative screech from one of the Dementors and he nodded, getting up to wash his face and then get something to eat. After that he conjured some simple robes based on her body; he'd have to make final adjustments when she wore them and told him how they fit. He was getting a bit excited. The Dementors were alright and all, but the Nightmare Lord wouldn't mind some human company if it was a person he chose.

He heard her wake up in the other room, and walked over there with the robes over his arm. She sat up on the stone table, and turned her eyes towards him. They glittered, a silvery light mixed in with the iris. His mark; she was the first to wear it, but people would know it. They would learn to know it, who his servants were.

The lord smiled, and she smiled back a little.

"Good morning, Elise," he said.

_To be continued…_

* * *

Elise is here!

Chapter seventeen: Years pass by, and stories are turning into legends. People believe in a tradition of Nightmare Lords, while the Nightmare Lord is… well, himself. Which is not really a good thing for most human beings around him.

Until later,

Tiro


	17. Chapter 17

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Gah, I haven't had much inspiration to write much fanfiction at all, what a nightmare! Hopefully it'll get better. For now, enjoy this chapter!

**_Gore and violence is described here._**

-o-

**Chapter Seventeen**

Humans adapt to pretty much anything. Weather changing, seasons turning, moving from one place to another. Death of loved ones, missing people that they care about… the human mind could get used to a lot of things.

People in the magical community in England adapted to the notion of a quiet dark lord roaming the lands, bringing with him nasty creatures, and silver-eyed servants made out of people who tried to hunt him down. Although they never saw more than one of these servants, a woman who apparently had been part of a bigger bounty hunter family.

Muggles in England adapted to the knowledge of villages burning, an unknown force, scary but unseen. They became alert and suspicious towards all and any strangers, a behaviour they took on all too easily. Humans weren't humans unless they could put blame on someone else than themselves, more or less.

The Nightmare Lord took this all in a stride. Years passed. He grew older, yet remained young. He was chased, but always emerged as the victor. Not always undamaged, no. It happened from time to time that he made it out and immediately collapsed due to loss of magic, or organs… one time his entire right side, arm included. That hurt a lot to regenerate, and it took a long time too. There were times where he slept for days at a time, and had trouble finding a good reason to rise at all during harsh winters.

Elise, his servant, remained at his side at all times during that. Her mind never recovered, and she didn't remember the torture. The Nightmare Lord did. He remembered her every scream, and wondered briefly why he dreamt about it, feeling cold and disgusting for a moment at what he had done to her. Then he'd forget about it until the next time he had a dream concerning her.

For some time, Elise was the only human being around him. The Nightmare Lord simply couldn't stand human companionship, no matter how much he might yearn for it. He only remembered how much he hated people once he tried to interact with them. He remembered how bad he was around children, those fragile, tiny things that were innocent. He had carried a few, heart thudding against his chest, fearing he'd drop the child, or crush it.

Orphans were the worst. He felt pity for them. He wanted to tell them things he didn't mean, like things would be alright one day, that they needn't cry anymore… the Nightmare Lord kept turning those words around in his own head, and wonder where they came from. Certainly not him, why would he reassure anyone?

He was chased. There were those who didn't give up. Some years after Elise became his servant, one magical village gathered enough money to send people after him. The Nightmare Lord left one witness in that village alive to tell the tale how well that went. He began to do that, and soon people grew more careful, both in chasing him as well as even speaking much about him at all.

By the time he passed one hundred years old, and he was seeing the middle of the fourth century of England, something new had been born in the minds of those who didn't know better. The magical community believed that the Nightmare Lord was a title passed from person to person, that the whole notion of a Dark Lord was created by a cult. They didn't believe he was immortal. They thought the new Nightmare Lord was always a young-looking man, and that they all were insane. The magical community shouted out that the immortality was faked to bring more fear.

The lord had a laugh at that, and let them believe whatever they wanted. It was good for him too, because that meant the amount of people chasing him to become immortal themselves lessened and he was bothered less in his own home.

He still captured people, but hadn't found someone he wanted as his servant. He knew people thought he had several when they'd only seen Elise. However, he wanted more, if only to have them talk to each other instead of bothering him. He wanted to be alone at times, but Elise rarely left his side. Her eyes followed him, and him only. Perhaps he had made her too loyal.

At least she knew now not to speak out of turn. He had removed her tongue for the better part of a week when he had lost his patience with her talking. She was usually silent until spoken to, and the few times she spoke first she requested permission to continue speaking. Once or twice she had forgotten herself, but the Nightmare Lord had forgiven her for that, since it hadn't annoyed him that much.

So he was looking for someone to make into a servant, if only to have Elise interact with that person, and therefore left him alone.

He wasn't even searching on the day he actually found that person, part of a group that was hunting him because there always seemed to be someone who wanted to hunt down the Nightmare Lord. Perhaps to impress someone. He knew some thought it would be a noble thing to do. The lord usually crushed them and moved on. This time, he captured a few of them and didn't know in the beginning he had his next servant amongst those who lived. He had just taken that man alive because he had a pretty face. The one who said the Nightmare Lord was vain would probably get themselves killed, but not before hearing from said lord it was true.

The house had served beyond its purposes, and looked like a loop-sided shack that for some reason made the lord just angrier every time he looked at it from afar. When Elise had suggested he'd build more floors up instead of expanding it on the ground, he felt like hitting her but had no real idea why. A flash of a red-headed woman had shown up in his mind's eye for a moment, and the unexpected rage caused him to wreck havoc on a nearby village. After that there were no more suggestions of making the house higher, only a slight nudge to perhaps finding a new location where a proper house could be built.

He had to agree with her there, since his energy on fixing this house had run out years ago. He'd rather waste his magic and time on having fun than trying to turn this place into something he preferred. The ground was slowly dying due to his gardens sucking out all nutrition out of it, so he had do to something about that as well. Once he begun to dig around, he found the soil turning into rot or ashes, or a mixture between them.

So he had to do something or he'd be moving around a lot, which he didn't want to. The Nightmare Lord gave Elise orders to keep the prisoners alive as he pondered on the garden problem, spending days outside with them, testing the soil and taking samples from the trees itself. When he didn't get anything useful at first, he wandered between the rooms of his mismatched house, holding either the container with ash or a jar with a preserved heart in it. When he held the jar, he wondered who it used to belong to, if it once belonged to a person he killed. Probably; why else would he have it?

But usually he walked around the trees, that shivered as he stroke their trunks. The Dementors followed him, grasping at his robes and arms, screeching softly.

"I don't know what to do about the soil, because I don't know how it happens in the first place," he said, both to the trees as well as to the Dementors. "Do you lot let the rot disappear into the ground or what? How?"

It was only three days later he remembered he had prisoners, and he went to check on them. There were five of them; four had apparently tried to escape while the pretty man had only leaned against the bars according to Elise. His grey eyes now focused on the Nightmare Lord for just a moment, but that moment triggered something in his mind.

_A blond man in a rich room, smiling the way the Nightmare Lord knew was arrogant but not to him and he was saying something and those grey eyes had once been eyes he hated but not anymore._

The Nightmare Lord knelt down and said:

"What's your name?"

The man looked at him and replied:

"Lucian."

The Nightmare Lord drew back a bit as that name triggered another name in his mind. _Lucius? No, I don't know any Lucius, do I? But I…_

He moved away, ordered Elise to keep Lucian fed and do whatever she wanted with the rest. He had to think and moved to his bedroom. Behind him he could hear screaming. His violence and tendency for torture had apparently rubbed off on Elise a bit, but she left out the laughing part that he usually couldn't stop.

The lord sat down on his bed and looked at the container resting on the table next to the bed. He always felt calm looking at it, but hadn't figured out why. By now he didn't care for the reason; he instead picked it up and held it against his chest. His fingers moved across the markings on the container, patterns that had no reason, it just was.

He imagined tracing those marks over human skin, the warmth and softness instead of the cold. Would it be nicer? He didn't know. Should he try? Maybe. On this Lucian, perhaps? The Nightmare Lord looked outside the window. Would Lucian make a good servant? His face was nice, but he hadn't fought back like Elise did, before she became the lord's servant. Was it because people knew it was no point in fighting the Nightmare Lord once they had been captured?

The container was put back on its place and the lord wandered through the house some more. Then he went to the cells and to Lucian.

"Who are you?" he wondered.

"What do you mean?" Lucian asked.

"I want to know who you are."

"I'm your prisoner, and you are the monster that caught me."

"Well, that's sort of your own fault."

"Yes… I know this. So kill me already."

The lord smiled.

"No, I don't think I will."

It took weeks to bring out Lucian's personality, sometimes with goading, sometimes with torture. Eventually Lucian was unable to stay upright, and lay slumped against the bars, bloody and broken. But still strong-willed. The Nightmare Lord wanted all of that, minus Lucian's desire to hunt him down. That would be rather tiresome if he made a servant that spent all his time trying to chase his own master and what, try to kill him? The lord had enough of those people without adding servants on that list.

"Why are you this way?" Lucian wondered one day.

The Nightmare Lord caught some of Lucian's blood on his finger, and tasted it as he pondered on his answer.

"I don't remember being anything else. I guess I'm just a monster, like you said earlier."

"But _why_? What do you gain from doing what you do?"

"I'm not bored. Isn't that enough?"

Lucian was more or less unconscious when the Nightmare Lord heaved him up on the stone slab, and he didn't have long left in his life. The lord was certain he knew Lucian's personality, all his quirks and curiosity, and all he had to do now was tweak a few things. With Elise he had been rather brutal, so he was… kinder, perhaps, with turning Lucian into his servant.

He also added something else, using the container with ash as a guide. He traced marks on Lucian, ink that sank beneath the pale skin. Marks that showed even more that Lucian was his.

For a moment, at the end, Lucian opened his eyes. Silvery traces had begun to form in them.

"Is this… how you made her?" he wondered in a quiet voice. "Everything's so… soft… in my head."

"It's the magic I put in you," the Nightmare Lord said. "When you wake up, your thoughts will be clear, and you will be mine. You won't even wonder why, you'll just know."

"Are you that… desperate… for companions?"

"Maybe I am," the lord said and stroke Lucian's cheek. "Maybe I just like to play with people's minds."

The last of the mind magic took root in Lucian's head, and the silvery eyes slipped close. Lucian breathed out, and slept. The lord looked at the man for a long moment and took a decision. He turned the hair a pale shade of blonde, thinking about the man in his thoughts _Lucius but he had a lot more sarcasm in him and where did that come from?_

He got up and staggered into the wall. He had been working on Lucian for a while, and felt a bit drained. A Dementor supported him to his bed, and he fell asleep as well.

-o-

Two servants and people still believed he had a whole army of them. The Nightmare Lord wondered how people's minds worked to make that up. Were the Dementors servants in their eyes? Were the walking corpses servants in their eyes? He didn't even have many walking corpses, as they still tended to fall apart all too soon.

In the end, he had to wonder of people had eyes at all or were they just too stupid to be able to count further than two?

Besides, Lucian with his new blond hair and tattoos stood out too much to be seen as more than one servant. Elise could perhaps be mistaken as more than one depending which way you saw her from. The lord decided not to care too much, as rumours about that many servants seemed to make people fear him a bit more.

Most people still thought of the whole Nightmare Lord thing as a title passed down to new people, and it had only convinced more people as the years went by. Only a few seemed to believe he was an immortal being, and it was usually those who managed to damage him enough that he should be dead.

He had lost his heart, had it ripped out of his chest only to rise again, a new heart forming in its place. The lord had tasted his blood on his tongue so many times he had become numb to it. He had lost so much of himself, blood and organs and even limbs on occasion, that death had become something to wish for at times.

The pain of losing an organ was agony after all. He could lie writhing as the new organ was formed, screaming at Elise and Lucian to kill him, _do anything_, and knowing it wouldn't help. He'd just wake up again. Was it a cruel joke? Was it a curse? Whatever it was, he began to hate it.

Usually he fixed that by torturing someone, forcing them to feel a bit like him. That made him feel not quite as lonely, but as always, it was a temporary fix.

He was turning older for each year, yet not aging one bit. The Nightmare Lord found himself lying in bed one day, a Dementor petting his hair, when he decided to do something else than think about his age, that the fifth century was only years away, think about how he didn't die and how _bored _he had become.

It was time to make a new home. This was a _shack_. He wanted something with towers. Something with high roof, and big rooms, so he could put everything in place and know it would stay there. He wanted to see rows of books instead of rummaging through an ever-expanding bag to find them.

Also, he had built up a nice collection of wands. They deserved to be on display, to have their own room. That, and he was tired of accidently setting off spells inside the bag when he tried to find something.

So when he got up he started gathering everything up and told Lucian and Elise to clean out the cells.

"I am going to find somewhere else to live," the lord told them. "Bigger than this. I'll make a place bigger than this, and spread out the gardens. People will learn to fear the trees."

The ground was more or less useless here by now; the trees had destroyed everything, turned soil into fine ash and he wasn't sure if anything would ever grow here again. The new trees would probably not destroy the earth quite as badly, if he had done the changes right. He just had to wait and see, and make adjustments as time went on.

Although he said he was going to find somewhere else to live, it took the Nightmare Lord quite some time to find the perfect location. He had to make sure it was away from human settlements, as he didn't want any annoying neighbours. He didn't want to have neighbours period since he would rather seek out human company than have it near him at all times.

But finally he found the perfect grounds so he went back to his old place, picked everything up and had the rooms collapse into rubble as Elise and Lucian watched.

"We'll take the trees later," he said. "Once we've found fertile ground for them. And then I want to make more of them."

Neither servant protested. They probably could, if they searched long enough inside of their minds. However, now they just listened. It got a bit boring at times, so the Nightmare Lord wondered if he should give them just the tiniest bit of rebellion at the forefront of their thoughts, not enough for them to openly defy him but to say no once in a while.

That'd make things interesting, and perhaps he'd trick out their personality. Even Lucian wasn't showing much of his curiosity even though the lord knew he left it in there.

With a sigh he Apparated, pulling the servants with him and landing on both feet. It had taken him a solid five years to make that happen; Apparating was not his favourite way of travelling. But it took him to places he needed to go and this right here was somewhere he wanted to go.

It was a stony landscape and he could see Lucian's frown at it, as there was no free ground large enough for the house, no, _manor _that the Nightmare Lord had kept talking about. Good thing the stones were going to be his manor. The earth underneath was rich, and he could make at least one garden next to the manor.

Magic came alive underneath his skin, came out through the very pores of his being. Elise and Lucian looked at him and then backed away as he rose up into the air. The magic made the air come alive around them. A few Dementors had come with them, and was now screeching in confusion, raising their arms towards him. He wondered what kind of scene they made right now.

Then he came back to himself, and started to work. Magic tore the stone from the ground, broke it and they began to swirl around in the air. The Nightmare Lord focused his entire mind and power into creating this, and the ground tore up, leaving room for a basement. Stones began to move into resemblance of walls, then floors. He left room for windows in the outer walls, and the place began to look like a house. No, a manor. His own manor.

He knew from the beginning it would be a grand place, filled with big, open rooms. No more cramped spaces for him. He would have towers, because he tended to like the feeling of being high up. The house from before only made him feel trapped. It had served its purpose of being a shelter, but at times it had reminded him of a small space underneath stairs, where sounds were enemies and he never knew what waited on the other side of the door. Where the demons lived, Uncle and Aunt and him, the victim he hated to be.

No, no more homes like that. This manor would be a place where he would never be reminded of that house in his dreams, in the nightmares he wanted to deny he ever had.

Building a whole manor did take its toll though. He had completed the basics, all the rooms and outer walls along with a roof but when he landed back on the ground his legs folded underneath him. Lucian and Elise just barely managed to catch him before he fell flat on the ground. The Dementors crowded them for a few moments before he managed to shoo them off.

"I'm fine," he said. "It's not every day I create a house."

"It's amazing, master," Elise breathed out.

"Of course it is."

It wasn't finished. He had no doors, no windows; all that had to get there later. Also wood floors, he didn't want cold stone everywhere. Then, fabrics and furniture as well. There was a lot left to be done.

"Elise," he said. "Fetch me trees. Strong ones, for doors and floorboards. Take some Dementors with you."

"Yes, master," she said and bowed. She gestured to four Dementors and they disappeared with her.

Lucian stood quietly at his side, looking at the manor. The lord threw a pouch with coins over to him and he caught it in surprise.

"I want fabrics," the lord said. "You know what colours I prefer, and don't skip on the quality."

Images of second-hand clothing, shirts big enough to be dresses, floated around for a moment. Aunt colouring them a dull grey, the clothes looking more like dead, swollen fish. The pain that came with the memory was getting familiar, and the lord did like he always did; he shoved the memories into a deep, dark corner of his mind. He felt that corner was rather filled with those memories, even though he was certain he had tried to forget them completely. _You can't forget your nightmares, not entirely_.

"I will do my best," Lucian said, tucking the pouch away in one of his pockets. "I will be back as soon as I can, master."

The Nightmare Lord was left alone in his new manor, bare of things but still his, and the Dementors came inside in greater numbers. They stroke the walls, murmuring amongst themselves. One latched onto him, screeching.

"It's home," he replied to the question he had been given by the creature. "It's our new home."

-o-

He had no real idea how to create interiors, but had in a few days managed to put in floorboards in some of the rooms, waiting with others to see what kind of floor he wanted there. Perhaps some different kind of stone? He did give some of the rooms wooden walls, and built a bed for himself, and for his servants. They had their own rooms too now but still continued to try and be as close to him as possible which was getting annoying. He wanted to be left alone, yet found them just outside his door every morning. Even when he ordered to sleep in their rooms they managed to refuse those orders. Was it loyalty, or something else?

"What use are your beds if you're not using them?" he asked them the sixth morning, when he was going from annoyed to angry.

"We just…" Elise began.

He held up his hand and she tensed. It wouldn't be the first time he ripped out either of their tongues to keep them silent but now he hesitated. Then he said:

"I built those rooms for you. Are you going to show your gratitude by not using them? You are insulting me right now, Elise, Lucian. Is that what you're after?"

They shook their heads.

"Good," he told them. "I won't be taking your speech away now, I seem to have gotten through to you. But if I find you outside my rooms another morning without a good reason, I will rip your tongues out. And I won't give them back for a while."

He began walking. Perhaps that was cruel, no, it was cruel to take someone's speech away. But the Nightmare Lord didn't know how to act in any other way. Perhaps he had once been kind, but if so it belonged to the past that hurt whenever he tried to remember it. So it was also easily ignored.

Lucian had picked out a lot of fabrics, gone through several countries to find what the lord wanted, and he chose to use them as both curtains as well as on the floor, draped over furniture or made into pillows to soften the hard chairs.

The kitchen area was something the lord left up to Elise and Lucian, as he usually didn't bother much with it. They cooked him food, even if they knew he had cooked before, and so he let them do that. He supposed that made them pleased, that they could look after him that way. For him, it just left him more time to make bookshelves.

For the first time in a long time, he could pull the books out of the bag, and let them stay out. He enjoyed filling the bookshelves, arranging the books, admiring them.

There was also a room he dedicated solely to wands. He had gotten quite a collection over the years, and now had them all on bookshelves. Still, he fiddled around with them, wondering how he should stack them all. Perhaps change the bookshelves so they were more adapted to holding wands? Oh well, he had time to find out.

Elise looked inside the room as the lord was there and said:

"I never realized master had collected so many…"

"It's funny to take people's wands. They get so upset at that," he replied. "As if the wands are their lives."

"Master is strong, since he doesn't need a wand."

He had wands that functioned well with him, that he felt comfortable using but he rarely needed them. However, they'd never go in this room. They had their place in his bedroom, near the container with ash that he was unable to make himself get rid off. He had tried once, gotten as far as the garden with the container open but when he stared down at the ash he knew he would regret it. It would hurt so goddamn much that he simply put the container back and making sure it couldn't be opened by anyone but him.

"I don't know if that makes me stronger," he replied to her words. "All I know it's funny to see them panic when they can't even disarm me since I don't have a wand to begin with… aren't you busy?"

"Master prefers to make the furniture himself, and I've finished in the basement."

He had asked her to make cells, and rooms he could use for… well, anything really. He had to keep himself entertained. The Nightmare Lord walked down to see how well she had done.

Against his will, he was quite impressed. She had fit several cells in the basement area, as well as rooms for him to work in, stone slabs to keep bodies on as well as tables along the sides of the wall. The design was similar to his old place, so she had probably used his designs. It made him… happy, to see Elise had gone for what he had done.

"You took after what I did at the other place," he had to say out loud.

"Yes. I thought master would prefer it that way."

"Well, I'm not displeased with it. I'm sure we'll have great fun down here in the years to come."

He had destroyed the person behind Elise, as the only thing she did was to smile in response. The Nightmare Lord couldn't help but laugh at that.

That night, feeling quite generous, he left the bedroom door open and said:

"Do whatever you want."

They didn't dare climb into his bed, but he heard them settled down next to his bed. He hadn't put that much loyalty into their heads, but he enjoyed it nonetheless.

-o-

He had chosen the location for it being remote from everything, but that didn't mean he never saw people passing by. Mostly Muggles whose minds he invaded, relished in their terror at the strange building that had shot up from the ground, their horror at the coldness that swept around them. Their eyes were unable to see the Dementors, and it made him laugh at them.

But there were wizards and witches too. They kept away, wary of the new building and wary of the Dementors that kept near to the manor. However, now and then there was someone who weren't as scared as filled with _respect _for the Nightmare Lord. It was a new thing for him, someone feeling respect for him without him forcing them to.

He couldn't lie to himself on that; Elise and Lucian only respected him because he had planted that in their new personalities. The Dementors perhaps respected him, but they were something else, something special and separated from humans. Humans respecting him were therefore something he hadn't encountered before.

Not to say he didn't accept it. They gave him gifts, and asked for advice. They called him 'lord' and let him dine in their homes. To them, he was the ancient one; they believed him when he told them his age, and would never dare to try and hunt him down for the secret behind his immortality.

So he could handle those visits, just a few hours showing his face, eating good food, and receiving things he never asked for. He liked getting things. He had a feeling that once in the past, he had never been given anything.

There were also times when he took wizards and witches he definitely didn't like back to the manor, to have fun with them. To teach their families lessons, or to teach them lessons. One particular annoying wizard, who thought himself better than the Nightmare Lord when they met only in passing in a magical village, became the first victim for a cocoon of a sort. He wanted to break the man mentally while leaving his body intact. However, the Nightmare Lord had no wish to look at his face, see his memories, or forced to hear his screams so he made the cocoon that would do the torture for him.

The man hadn't understood anything, not until the cocoon was almost all around him. The lord listened to his screams for mercy, and merely waved at him before the cocoon closed up on its own. He motioned for one of the Dementors.

"Keep a watch on that, alright? The man isn't supposed to come out until… five days from now, so if he appears earlier you can have fun with him."

Yes, he tended to indulge his Dementors too, but he supposed that one of his other faults as a person. Or was it a fault? He liked them, and they liked him. So he gave them treats once in a while, in form of humans to play with and their souls to devour. It was always fun to see what people would do with the bodies afterwards, since the bodies lived while the souls became lost forever.

-o-

The cocoon worked out perfectly, and the Nightmare Lord was very pleased with it. He didn't have to waste his time looking at some annoying wizard, yet the man was tortured to the brink of insanity without the lord lifting a finger at him. The cocoon had drained quite a bit of energy from him but it was worth it in the end.

That, and people wouldn't expect it from him. They would expect him to fight them, or torture them, and would therefore be unprepared to defend themselves from a cocoon. It sounded silly, more to say it out loud than in his head, but the Nightmare Lord wasn't going to walk around saying it to anyone else. They only needed to know he had found another way to mess around with people.

Often he was left alone, and he was glad for it. Company set him on edge, and he couldn't contain his temper for long if he was around Muggles. He could still hear them, the demons that had the names of Aunt and Uncle in his head, when he walked through a Muggle village. He could see them in sudden moments, and at night they rarely left him alone.

He tried beating them out, literally but all it did was giving him a massive head wound and a headache that lasted for days. When he took potions for dreamless nights, he woke up feeling heavy and uncomfortable for the entire day. He'd rather have the dreams than being sluggish.

The manor kept him busy for some time, and Elise often kept at least a few prisoners alive for him. Lucian made sure he never had to think about food, and the lord supposed that should have made him… content, for the lack of a better word. But it wasn't enough. Why make due with simply content when you could feel great?

As years began to pass even in the manor, he felt getting to the point where nothing bothered him was harder to reach. Magical people feared him, and kept their mouths shut when it came to him. People who worshipped him passed in a blink of an eye, and he found it boring to even try conversation with people who stammered their way through greetings, almost pissing themselves in glee at seeing him in person. He had become an ornament to show off to their friends in their eyes, and it made him angry.

One day, almost a whole decade since he made the manor, he thought about this while staring out at the fields surrounding his manor. He had no gardens around yet, as he was experimenting how to make the soil survive longer than it had in the beginning, but the Dementors roamed around. They caused chilly weather but the Nightmare Lord had long since grown used to it.

There was a memory in the lord's mind, of a man who was feared the way he was. But he wasn't seen as an ornament. He was seen as a Dark Lord, worshippers filled with either respect of fear. Perhaps a combination of the two. How had he done it? The Nightmare Lord couldn't remember for the life of him, since the memory kept slipping from his mental grasp. He just knew the bit about the respect and fear.

What was the difference between him and this man? The Nightmare Lord felt time separated them, but couldn't figure out why he felt that way.

"Does it even matter?" he asked out loud. "I'm a pretty ornament people pass around… do they worship me, or think me an oddity they can collect and gossip about?"

For some reason, that made him even angrier. But then again, he had the name Nightmare Lord for a reason. He wasn't supposed to be an oddity. He was something people should run away from.

"What on Earth have I been doing, trying to gather people who… _respect _me?" he spat out. "I don't even like them. Why should I waste time on things I don't want to do? I'm an idiot."

He got up and decided to visit someone one last time. If they saw him as nothing more but a curiosity, he'd kill them. Who needed followers, when one never wanted to talk to humans beings on a regular basis anyway?

-o-

Elise and Lucian came with him. He was a bit surprised to notice it was a bigger gathering of people, but didn't really mind. Only more people to use to make a statement should he need to make one.

The owner of the house greeted him, and when the Nightmare Lord scanned his surface thoughts he found a healthy dose of fearful respect.

"My lord, I could never have expected…! To visit such a commoner such as myself…"

This one wouldn't do. He was one of those who would never look at the Nightmare Lord and see an ornament. The lord wouldn't bother with his company much, but there was no… _need _to kill him. What an ugly thought, especially when he really wanted to kill something.

"I'm afraid I can't stay for long," he said, suppressing his urge to just have someone's blood decorating the walls. "Many places to go, you understand."

"Of course, of course! A man like you… well, for the time being, please feel at ease."

He didn't. Too many people, too many annoying voices. Elise had produced something for him to drink, perhaps from somewhere else in the house. He took the cup, but generally disliked anything he was offered. He thought that alcohol tasted foul the more he drank, and therefore he tended to avoid it. Even Lucian and Elise were better than him when it came to drinking.

"Master?"

"Not now," he said.

"Are we…?"

"_I said_, not now."

Elise shrunk back. The action caused a stab of pain in his chest, and at the same time he got angry. When he made her, and Lucian, he had wanted human company. So how come he got so annoyed at times and all he wanted to do was throttle their throats?

How come he never felt relieved at their presence, at all times, like when he was with the Dementors?

Itching under his skin caused the Nightmare Lord to drain his drink and quickly move on before he accidently killed anyone. He got to the next location, and found a worshipper that had moved from the worshipping to regarding him as an object to show off. This man had a family, three children, and was holding a small party for his closest friends.

The Nightmare Lord scanned their thoughts, _this one thinks he's a lord, he's not even properly dressed, that woman servant looks good enough to fuck, then again, so does the so-called lord…_

And so they went on. The lord smiled at them, and wondered how he should kill them all. Should he leave the children alive? They didn't know who he was, _pretty eyes, _and the girl who thought that would get to live. He decided to actually be kind and let her siblings live too, and beckoned Lucian over.

"Take the children from the house," he instructed Lucian, "unconscious if necessary. Stay near though; you'll know when I'm done."

Lucian nodded and disappeared into the small crowd. The lord noticed the children's absence after a few minutes, and turned to the man who had thought he was good enough to fuck. The man believed him to an easy victim, gave compliments and the Nightmare Lord refrained from breaking his arm when he groped around. _Just give a few more minutes, relax them into thinking I am truly nothing…_

Elise was groped as well, and her eyes were stormy. At his nod, she turned and punched the man in the face. The Nightmare Lord turned to the man he had been talking to, smiled and split his face open with a slash of magic, exposing broken bone and brain. Blood spurted up in his face and he laughed. Easy humour in the room turned into horror.

_Wait, is he… no, is he perhaps speaking truth?_

The woman who thought this was near him. He grabbed her silky clothes, drew her in and said:

"Yes, as a matter of fact, _I am_."

Her flesh parted eventually beneath his hand, and he watched the blood run out of her mouth.

"I am the Nightmare Lord, and you are my entertainment tonight," he told her, and destroyed her heart.

The screams didn't last long enough for him, and the night continued with burning houses and corpses left behind, people who realized the truth when they were already doomed. He destroyed a third of his so-called followers, leaving behind a message to never see him as a pretty ornament to brag about knowing.

Then he went home, washed the blood off, and felt no better at all. Yes, it had been fun while he was doing it but now he was just empty.

"Lucian, come with me," he told the blond. "Good work tonight, Elise. I'll be turning in now."

"Understood, master. I will lock down the manor then."

Lucian sat perfectly still as the Nightmare Lord traced the markings on his skin, cheek pressed against Lucian's shoulder.

"Are you not feeling well, master?"

"I thought I would feel well. I guess I don't know myself very well after all. Life is rather boring. Do you find it boring?"

"No, master, but I suppose we look at life very differently."

"Yes, I suppose we do…"

The warmth was comforting tonight. Perhaps tomorrow he would hate feeling Lucian's body against his own, hate having him near… it was exhausting not knowing how he felt about them. He could always hug the Dementors, day after day, and never feel hateful towards them.

"I am a bad master," the Nightmare Lord said. "I know this, and I don't change. It's a curse to be with me."

"I do not mind."

"That's because I made you that way, Lucian."

Lucian looked at him, and stroke his cheek.

"Still… I do not mind."

The Nightmare Lord closed his eyes, and dreamt of the carnage he had made, of the blood and gore, and when he woke, their screams echoed in his ears and he wanted to kill more.

Turned out he didn't have to seek out people. His murder spree had caused a lot of chaos, since some of the victims were influential and powerful people with a lot of family members that wanted revenge.

Next time he visited a village, they had apparently found out his location and he was soon surrounded by dozens of wizards and witches, all of them pointing wands and staffs at him.

_I should have brought some Dementors with me… oh well. _He looked around and said:

"Let me guess; someone is angry with me?"

"You have caused the death of several important wizards and witches, those who did good deeds to our world and could have been great assets to the future!" one wizard said.

"If you say so," he replied. "They begged for their lives. They were willing to betray their friends and family for their own survival. Does that sound like good people?"

"You are a simple murderer! Life needs to become peaceful; the notion of a Nightmare Lord needs to go away. You will lead us to the cult, and we will eradicate it!"

"You speak a lot of big words, you think you're important?" the Nightmare Lord wondered. "Anyway, I am sorry to disappoint you lot but I am the only one. There is no cult. I have lived longer than you. I know, not easy to believe with my pretty face, but that's the truth."

"Capture him! These lies will meet their end!"

He dodged the first spell, pushed another person in front of the second, and then he laughed. This was what he enjoyed the most; the adrenaline rush of a fight. He never knew what to expect from his enemies; sometimes he was disappointed at their weakness. Other times he barely managed to win. At times like that, he had to wonder if he was weak, or if they were really strong. He'd rather think himself weak than admit people were really stronger than him, but knew admitting that meant someone was indeed stronger…

Perhaps it was just with greater numbers of wizards and witches he was weaker, if he counted them all against him. Either way, he should just stop thinking about it and kill them all. He wouldn't be able to go home otherwise.

The raw magic still surprised many people. The Nightmare Lord had no idea if it was normal or not, because it had always felt rather normal for him. Sure, he could use wands, he always had the three that felt just right sitting in his hand but he didn't _need _them all the time. He rarely needed them nowadays.

Another spell tore through his arm, muscles tearing out along with nerves, causing enough pain to blind him temporarily. He shifted to defence and inspected the damage. The arm was pretty much useless for the moment, and so he cut it off completely. But he didn't throw it away, because he could always attach it later, and had it saved in the ever-expanding bag he wore at his belt.

"Monster!"

_If there is a word I have begun to hate, it is that word. I want to ban it. Can I ban it? _Twisting away from a person's staff, he grabbed a woman's arm and slammed her into the ground. Not even waiting for her scream to end he moved on to a new person.

Perhaps they thought he would be easier to defeat when he had just one arm but he would show them he didn't need all limbs to defeat them.

The ground crumbled beneath their feet. Blood ran like small rivers in the end. But the Nightmare Lord had made mistakes before. He underestimated many people, not in their strength but in their stubbornness.

It was one woman. She was the last one standing, the others having lost too many limbs to be able to stand, or simply having lost too much blood to be alive. The lord himself was tired, and was beginning to admit to himself he had played around too much with them. He always got lost in fights, trying to make them last longer to have more fun memories to live off.

This woman moved closer, not for an attack. She looped her arms around his waist, falling to her knees. He thought she was dying. Only when he saw the glowing orb around her neck did he try to pry her off. She held on, and the magic inside the orb exploded.

Pain unlike anything else entered his mind. He registered the sensation of flying, then landing very painfully and having a lot less of himself when he did land. Blood was choking him as it moved up his throat, out of his mouth. But then he had to wonder if he had any lungs to breathe with anyway.

His remaining arm was still attached, just barely. He moved it towards his chest, sliding fingers against bloody, cracked ribs. There was no flesh or muscles left. Slippery organs, his pelvis bone… no leg. The Nightmare Lord strained himself trying to look down, but his eyes were failing. All he saw was a mass of red and white, blood and bone, but he didn't feel any legs at all, couldn't get around to make his toes move… perhaps he no longer had toes.

His head fell back and all he saw now was the sky. He heard nothing; the blast must have killed off those who remained alive. _Suicide then, they didn't plan to remain alive… bugger. Should've thought about that._

What was left of his body was rapidly shutting down. He felt very cold, but he couldn't die. He had never been able to die, no matter what he did. This couldn't be it, right? _The great Nightmare Lord, defeated by idiots… such a stupid end._

His hand grasped at the ground, felt grass between his fingers, dirty under his nails. Fresh soil, its rich scent surrounded him, then overtaken with the smell of death. The blood was slowing down, and growing cold on his skin.

Before long his eyes closed by themselves, and the world around him grew dark and quiet. In the end, when Elise and Lucian found him, he heard nothing at all.

To be continued…

* * *

A bit of a bloody ending for this chapter!

Chapter eighteen: Will the Nightmare Lord wake up? And what will happen if he does?

See you later,

Tiro


	18. Chapter 18

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Of course he doesn't die! He's the Nightmare Lord after all. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

_Gore and violence is described here._

-o-

**Chapter Eighteen**

The sounds returned first.

Fabrics rustling in the wind. Elise had wondered about 'curtains', and what part of the world they were from. The Nightmare Lord had no idea how to respond, as curtains had always been part of his vocabulary without him knowing why. No one else had them, but he liked it. Well, there were always drapes but they were more generally used to divide rooms. He preferred solid wood doors for that.

Then there were steps, which meant either Elise or Lucian. Dementors didn't exactly walk, or were heard walking like, say, humans, so he ruled them out. But Elise and Lucian usually didn't walk around in his room when he slept.

Finally there were the Dementors, their rattling breathing that reassured him his beloved children were near.

So yes, sounds came to him first, but what came second was _Why am I even lying down?_

His throat refused to work, and his eyes wouldn't open. His limbs wouldn't move; the sheet on top of him felt like lead but then again, so did his eyes and arms. For a moment, he feared he'd choke.

Then he swallowed, and his lungs continued breathing, a controlled motion that partly satisfied him, partly unnerved him. Same with hearing his own heart. It reminded him he was alive, and then it _reminded him he was alive_. Same words, two different mind-sets.

It took a while to remember. He had last felt grass underneath his hand; now there was only soft fabric. He had smelt blood, the overwhelming stench of gory death. Now there was a sweet scent, incense Elise had discovered he enjoyed from time to time. _Where did she find where I hid them? _

Finally he opened his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn't. The light stabbed into his eyes and his throat tore up as he screamed the best he could. His arms finally moved, if only to put his arms over his eyes.

Hands grabbed at him, he fought back but lost the struggle within moments, falling back into comforting darkness where neither scent nor sound reached him.

-o-

Waking up a second time, the Nightmare Lord managed to open his eyes without wanting to gouge them out, and he stared at the ceiling for a while. He was alone in the room now. The robes were light and comfortable against his skin and… yes, he had both arms. He raised his head, and saw the outlines of both legs. He was whole again. Hands began to move, slowly gaining feeling back and he felt his ribs, covered in muscles, flesh and skin. Normal, not broken. He breathed in, felt his lungs expanding and let his head fall back against the pillows. His entire body was sore, as if he had been lying down for far, far too long.

The door opened and both Lucian and Elise stepped inside, Elise holding a tray. Which she dropped when she saw him awake. Lucian stopped as well, and then to the Lord's horror tears sprang up in Lucian's eyes.

"Master…" Elise whispered.

Lucian didn't stop at saying that. He threw himself at the bed and before the Nightmare Lord knew what to do, he was being hugged. That alone was a strange feeling. It was the first time he had been hugged by anything else than a Dementor since… since a long, long time. He couldn't remember being hugged by a human, feeling their heat so close to him. Dementors weren't warm, and their arms were thin whilst Lucian's were softer.

Elise joined them, not caring about the crashed tray and took his face in her hands. Normally she would never even attempt that.

"Master, you're awake."

"Of course," he began, then coughed. His throat was raw, and Elise was quick to get him a cup of water. "Of course I'm awake. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Master, you've been… asleep."

"For how long?"

He needed to know since it had turned Lucian into a child needing comfort from the Nightmare Lord, which was terrifying in itself.

"Two years," Elise said.

"Two… _years_?"

Banging on the window and the lord looked over, seeing nothing but masses of black and hearing nothing but high-pitched screeching. _Oh… no wonder they sound a bit upset._

-o-

One hour later the Nightmare Lord had washed off and gotten something to eat, and that something was just some bread. Not stale; Elise knew better than to get him stale bread. That, and cold soup as well as soggy vegetables. There were a lot of things he had attempted to eat but those three made him remember Uncle and Aunt and he never wanted to remember them by accident.

However, he had to get help when he tried to walk because even if he poured magic into his muscles not a lot happened. Apparently there were things only time could heal and the Nightmare Lord resigned himself to it.

Lucian and Elise didn't say a word as they helped him downstairs. When he staggered, they kept him upright. When he swore at his own body, they said nothing. If he was exhausted just walking for a bit, they didn't mention it.

He didn't want more to eat; he wanted to sit in the library and talk to his Dementors while Lucian and Elise gathered information about what had happened during the time he slept.

"Master, do you require anything else before we leave?" Elise wondered as he was settled in.

"Some more water, I suppose," he replied. "I… appreciate your concern."

It almost hurt to admit that. He didn't want anyone's help. Didn't need it. He was a lord, a powerful one… he didn't have to think back how one single person managed to blow him to pieces, forcing his body into a coma for two years.

When Elise and Lucian had left, and the Dementors surrounded him, the Nightmare Lord examined those memories. He had underestimated his enemies. He did that a lot. Perhaps on purpose. The thought of death wasn't very scary. He was more conflicted, was never sure if he wanted to die or live.

Trying to die every day and still live seemed to have become the normal thing for him to do. One of the Dementors pushed against his shoulder and he said:

"Hey, give me some space. I know I've been sleeping for a while but still…"

Cold breathing over his face and he raised an eyebrow.

"Words, you, words. I don't understand weird breathing."

Words this time around, wheezing words no one human but him understood.

"Yes, I know you were worried. I'm better now."

He waved his hand and a book flew off one of the shelves to him. He barely managed to catch it and scowled. Yes, he was powerful but simpler things like levitating stuff were… harder to accomplish. He overdid it most of the time.

Surrounded by the Dementors, the Nightmare Lord settled in and opened the book.

He remained there for hours before Elise and Lucian returned. By that time, he was hungry again and they both seemed to know because Lucian soon brought him a tray. Soft bread along with chicken.

"We had chicken?" he wondered as he shredded the meat between his fingers, nibbling on it.

"Elise acquired some when we were out, master. She's compiling what we found so you can read it later."

"Good. Who made this?"

"I did?"

"Hmm… not bad. We should have chicken more often."

"As you wish, master."

He didn't want Lucian to leave. He also didn't want Lucian to talk. To think he felt lonely despite the fact he hadn't known he'd slept for two years. But how to tell Lucian this? If he said it the wrong way, then Lucian would be around too much.

Sighing, the lord put his head in his hands.

"Master?"

"Nothing… just… thinking too much. Stay in this room, but don't talk… too much."

"Yes, master."

Lucian settled in with a book in the end, and the lord finished eating. Maybe Elise wasn't done with writing everything up, as she didn't show her face, so the Nightmare Lord returned to his own book, Dementors floating in and out of the room through the open windows.

He remembered his servants' confusion when he made the windows. They had no idea about windows. He himself had no idea how he knew about windows, but it was there in his head and he wanted them. There were a lot of things he knew that he didn't remember where exactly it came from. Somewhere in the past most likely, a past that had a lot more memories of Aunt and Uncle in it. He'd rather remember about curtains and windows than those demons.

The lord didn't notice he fell asleep but woke up in the semi-dark. Lucian was feeding the fire in the hearth. There was a blanket across the lord's legs. He remembered… someone. Someone who would do the same. Make a fire, put a blanket over him to keep him warm and comfortable. Someone who had perhaps not done the exact thing, but would have done it without hesitating.

All he saw was someone with red hair, not Lucian's pale blond strands.

"How long did I sleep?"

Lucian turned to him.

"Most of the day, master. Elise is preparing dinner."

"Oh… I guess two years wasn't enough of sleeping."

"Your body was badly damaged for a long time, master. You still need some rest before you're back at your usual strength."

He decided not to ask about the exact injuries. He had no wish to relieve them in that moment. Instead he adjusted himself and worked out the stiffness of his neck.

"Is she done with the papers? Of what's happened when I slept?"

"Yes. However, we did not wish to disturb you."

"… I'll get to it tomorrow."

He hated the weakness in his limbs, the heavy feeling in his head. He couldn't think straight, and when Elise came with the dinner he barely managed to finish half. By that time, he was drifting in and out of sleep. Normally he would have protested to their aid, but this time he gave in. He let them support him back to the bedroom, where he fell asleep before he could say anything.

-o-

He didn't get to it the next day. In fact, for several days he was tired and dizzy, barely able to eat and slept for long periods of time between the meals. His body wanted longer to recover, which drove his mind mad.

But finally he managed to stay awake for longer and longer periods, although he still found himself not wanting to go out in case his body would get too tired.

"Elise," he said on the ninth day after awakening.

She had been dusting off his books, but now turned to look at him.

"Yes, master?"

"How badly damaged was my body?" he wondered. "I'm trying to remember… but it's rather fuzzy. I know I had lost one arm, and part of my chest but… what else?"

"Master was… in pieces," she said. "Both legs, most organs… part of your ribcage had been pulverized, and so one of your lungs had been completely obliterated. You had quite some difficulty breathing the first few months, as there was so much damage done…"

"Nerves and tendons too, then?"

"Yes, master. Plus your blood vessels, and your heart… it began to try and heal itself but some of the muscles died, so we had to remove it to allow your body to create a new one."

"Oh. Anything else?"

"You had lost almost all skin, even in your face," Elise said. "We were amazed master was still alive when we managed to find all the pieces. Your Dementors helped us."

"I can't die, Elise, so it's not that amazing. What's amazing is that I allowed a simple magical person, barely living, that close. I was careless."

_It could still have been on purpose on my part. _It was amazing how the mind worked at times, and the Nightmare Lord had stopped trying to understand his. His mind wanted to live, yet it yearned to see what could kill him. At times, it was very trying to be him.

Still… he was rather certain if he got his hands on a new poison, he would in the end try it himself, just to see if it would be the thing to kill him in the end.

"It was still scary," Elise said, "seeing master so still… no matter what we did, you didn't open your eyes even once."

"That's rather strange, me sleeping for two whole years," he said. "My body can't have been that damaged."

"But master hasn't rested well in a very long time. Your body… perhaps it took the chance… to recover."

That was certainly a possibility. Didn't mean he'd tell Elise that, because that would be admitting neglecting his own body's needs, therefore making himself weaker on purpose.

It was really irritating being this conflicting. On one hand, he didn't want to live. On the other hand, he refused death once it came near.

The first few moments after he had swallowed a poison were bliss. Then it turned into agony and didn't disappear until he'd vomited the poison up.

He didn't mind seeing if people could kill him. He hated and slaughtered them if they left a wound on him. There were times when he got really angry at that witch who had dealt the damage to his body, that she died in the blast. He wished she had survived, so he could kill her for trying to kill him.

He sighed, and massaged his temples.

"Master?"

"Headache," he hissed, "so be quiet."

_Why can't I just decide to feel one thing, instead of being a mass of things and feelings? I hate it. It's unnecessary. All these _feelings _are driving me insane…_

At least Elise and Lucian had stopped with the hugging. They hovered, but they didn't try and embrace him like when he had just woken up. He didn't want to be hugged; it was too much of a strange feeling for him to appreciate it. The Dementors hugged him all the time but it was different with them. They weren't humans in the first place. Their touch was so different, all bones and coldness seeping through. Not warm, like Elise and Lucian. Not soft, like Elise and Lucian. Those touches made him feel uncomfortable. The Nightmare Lord hadn't received touches like that for… he couldn't remember having ever received them.

Finally he got to the papers Elise had written for him. She knew he cared little for what he called politics and had therefore only composed a short overview over it. Not much had happened, although most had passed him off as dead.

His followers, those who truly admired him, had never lost faith. They were overjoyed when Elise and Lucian visited them, and gave many wishes to the Nightmare Lord. He supposed he was pleased with that, but didn't linger on that part.

Some however, had boasted about being the one to kill him. Not the followers, but just ordinary witches and wizards. At some places, they had made him into a joke. The Nightmare Lord read this all through, and once he was done he said to Lucian:

"Two years is enough to make fun of a dark lord?"

"Master…"

"No, it's alright. I'll show them how wrong they are. It'll make for a nice change of scenery."

"Do you mean now?"

"No, not yet," he replied. "I'm still not back at my full strength. Collapsing halfway through destroying their pathetic, little lives isn't something I want. Even if they won't live to tell anyone about that."

"I understand, master. Will you be using the Dementors?"

"Hmm, I think I should bring them with me when I go out… to avoid another body-breaking incident. They don't take too kindly on a two-year coma, it appears."

"No… neither did we," Lucian said.

There it was again, wanting to have Lucian near yet not. Lucian stayed close but thankfully didn't talk, forcing the lord to make conversation when all he wanted was silence.

Soon he'd feel much better. Soon he didn't have these feelings and desires of wanting people _close _to him. Perhaps it was due to the coma. He wasn't thinking straight.

Once he got better, he'd pay a visit to those who said they had killed him. He would make his presence known through their deaths. A little carnage was good exercise and bound to have the blood flowing. He would have some fun, retreat into the shadows and watch people run themselves ragged with panic at his return.

That is just what he did roughly one month later, when his muscles no longer protested, and his body felt no pain. His mind was cleared from any distractions, such as aching ribs or strange hunger or a thirst that made him wonder whether he wished to drink or vomit. As he had never been in a coma before, he didn't know if that was normal. Perhaps just for him. The Nightmare Lord didn't care much, as it had already passed.

Instead a village had met its end. The leader of that village had been boasting about being the one to kill the Nightmare Lord. Of course, the lord knew from earlier that he wasn't the only one Lucian and Elise had found to be boasting about that, but he would be the first to die because of it. The others would live in fear that they would be next. The Nightmare Lord liked fear. It made people do funny, irrational things.

The village burned that night, smoke rising up in the sky. He left a single child alive to tell the tale, carried her out of the burning village and settled her down safely. He left before anyone came there, but kept his servants busy by having them around in the magical community, awaiting the news.

Soon it came. The notion, the fear, the Nightmare Lord was still alive. Once Elise and Lucian came back to tell him this, the lord smiled. They also told him how villages prepared themselves for him to come, how wizards and witches went into hiding due to them having made fun of his name. Those who said they had killed him were first ridiculed, and then some were thrown out of their villages in fear they all had to pay for a single person's mistake.

This made him laugh until his sides hurt. He wasn't sure if it was a very pleasant laugh. He no longer quite remembered what a pleasant laugh was supposed to sound like.

"Looks like I'll be able to have some fun," he told his servants at last.

Some fun indeed.

_To be continued…_

* * *

Shorter chapter this time, but it came out a little faster.

Chapter nineteen: Time passes, and the Nightmare Lord changes from bad to worse. But for whom?

Until later.

Tiro


	19. Chapter 19

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Hey, it's been a while. School's been busy and I've got other stuff going on as well. But read and enjoy this chapter!

_Gore and violence is described here._

-o-

**Chapter Nineteen**

People didn't look at Elise. She didn't appear as anything special but a woman buying vegetables and herbs. She stopped to look at some potion ingredients but eventually moved on. She purchased a whole chicken, but no bread. Her master, the Nightmare Lord didn't eat bread that others had baked. Some would call him fussy. Not to his face of course. They usually wouldn't keep their heads if they did. But it wasn't that he was fussy; he just kept thinking everyone tried to poison already made food. Elise had learnt this also meant he wouldn't eat a meal prepared by someone else than himself, Elise or Lucian which meant if she or Lucian didn't feed him, her master would rarely eat at all. He could cook but preferred to do other things with his time. Like trying not to be bored. Making food was in his opinion boring, because it reminded him of things he'd rather not remember.

So everything she bought was in its raw condition. She thought of tender chicken meat that could easily be shredded. She thought of steaming vegetables, quite firm and quite hot. The last time her master had been served cold vegetables, he had first vomited and then he had… well, let's just say the black eye lasted quite a while on her face. She wasn't sure who had been most surprised over the sudden violence, her or her master.

Elise did not really know when her master had changed from threats to simply charging in. He didn't seem to know either. Anger was part of his personality as much as his glee when it came to hurting others.

"Master doesn't mean it," she had said once, when the violence got the better of him for the second time.

"No, master does mean it," he replied. "I'm hurting you because I want to; don't try to make me into a nice person. I'm a horrible person and don't you _ever _forget that."

So Elise accepted it and moved on. Her master had anger issues, and took it out on others. Mainly other people than her and Lucian but if he didn't have anyone to torture, they could become his victims just as easily as any other person… unless he decided it was time to torture himself.

How many times hadn't he swallowed poison before she could stop him? How many times hadn't he taken knives from her hand just to plunge them into his body?

"I just wanted to see what would happen," was his only comment to each injury he caused on himself. "Stop acting like… oh, I don't know, as if you genuinely care. You don't."

"I do," she usually said despite the fact her master rarely liked to hear them talk too often. She didn't really know why, but he looked torn between wanting them to shut up and have them talk more.

"I made you care. In reality, you don't. You want me dead. I want me dead. I also want to live. It's all terribly complicated, so now let me go and torture myself in peace."

A few times she had tried to continue that kind of conversation. Pain had followed, and her tongue in her master's hand.

"Behave, and I'll put it back," was all he said.

Elise never counted how many times he had taken her tongue, or Lucian's tongue. It was within his right to do so. He owned her, and he owned Lucian. Whatever orders he gave her, she obeyed.

Like now, buying food because he couldn't be bothered. Said something about demons making him do it, and not letting him have any of the food. Elise only knew of the demons as Aunt and Uncle, and that the lord seldom spoke about them. Sometimes she heard him late at night, waking up screaming, then destroying part of his room in anger. She knew her master was a mess, and that he couldn't be called sane. He didn't act like most people she observed when she went out, but she didn't know what set him apart from them. When he made her his, he was already beyond what people called normal.

Elise finished shopping and Apparated back to her master's manor, tall and foreboding for some. The towers rose up into the sky, spirals of darkness and shimmering windows. Dementors were everywhere, and there was a garden that produced more of them. Since this had been Elise's home for quite some time, she experienced a feeling of ease whenever she walked back inside. She wasn't scared to be hurt by her master. The pain always disappeared in the end.

As she stepped through the front door, the blood on the floor made her pause. Her master walked up from the dungeons only a few moments later.

"Don't bother about the blood, I'll gather it up in a minute," he said.

"Whose is it, master?"

"Some annoying people. You lot, get up here."

Corpses came bumbling up the stairs, vacant eyes rolling in their eye sockets. The Nightmare Lord had been raising the dead for a number of years now. Elise tried to remember what year it was; her master and lord followed something he called AD. He never explained why, and she hadn't heard of it before. But then again, she hadn't heard of curtains and windows in the manner her master used them, and so just followed his lead.

They must have passed 450 AD by now. Elise cared little for time beyond the fact she should not be alive at this point. She had grown far older than even the oldest wizard or witch she knew. Her master was even older. He had to be over two hundred years old. She knew better than to ask. The Nightmare Lord would only be reminded of his own boredom should one start to talk how many years he had been alive.

Elise thought two hundred years, and yeah, probably add like forty or fifty years to that, wouldn't be enough to learn everything there was to be known about the world. Her master was of a different opinion, as many subjects did not interest him in the slightest.

"I'd rather stare at a wall for a week than open a boring book," he had told her once.

Where was she now again? As one of the corpses walked passed her, she remembered. Her master had been raising corpses for a long time. He still wasn't at the point where he was satisfied with the end results, but at least nowadays the corpses walked on their own even after he made his own magic vanish from them. They mostly shuffled around though.

However, they were great for scaring people. Sometimes he had them invade a village just to see how people would react to dead people running around. In the end, they had gotten too many to have around the manor and the Nightmare Lord built a building away from the manor to store them in. He even put a mark on the floor, saying it was his. He had said it was a lightning of sorts, but when she asked why he hadn't given her an answer. He didn't seem to know why, only that the mark was familiar. Then he got angry over not remembering.

At least he'd taken out his aggression on a nearby wall than her. Perhaps he felt she hadn't been at fault there, or… she should stop trying and understand his actions, since her master didn't seem to understand them most of the time anyway.

-o-

Over the years Elise had discovered food in her master's room several times. When asking Lucian, he confirmed he had found it too. It was usually dried food, things that wouldn't go bad so she usually left it there, a bit confused but unwilling to make the Nightmare Lord upset. She hated when he was upset, because she and Lucian had no idea how to help him.

They both found that their master despised anything cold and soggy, no matter what the ingredients were, and if the food turned out that way they never served it. They'd rather eat it themselves than invoke his wrath for something so small.

He liked chicken but was never scared to try new things. Elise and Lucian did that sometimes when they went shopping, bringing home something they had never seen before. The Nightmare Lord never ate in the dining room he had made, so they just usually carried the plate to wherever he had ended up when it was time for dinner.

Sometimes they waited for his reply, if it was edible or not. Other times, when he was busy with some prisoner or a corpse, Lucian had been the one to simply feed the food to him. It worked most of the time. A few times, they left immediately, as his temper was rearing up for explosion no matter what they did. At those times, he usually threw the plate after them.

He refrained from hitting them though, as much as he could. He would punch the wall next to them, or tear at his own hair but his violence was limited to verbal abuse only when it came to his servants. That, and the occasional removal of the tongue.

This time around Elise found the Nightmare Lord in his own bedroom, reading a book. She carefully put down the plate with chicken and homemade bread, both steaming hot, and then a tray with butter along with a cup of water. He insisted on the water bit, although she wanted to give him the finest wines she could find.

"Thank you," he said. "I forgot to ask earlier… did you hear anything about us when you were out?"

"People are keeping silent. They fear your name, and walk as if you hide behind every corner."

"Well, that's not so bad," he said. "I like it when people are scared of me. Then they won't get close."

The followers her master had were strange people, to still like him despite the fact he could just as easily kill them if they got boring. They had a healthy dose of fear for him, but an equal amount of admiration. Elise wasn't sure what to make of them. They weren't sure what to make of her and Lucian. Both of them used to be people hunting the Nightmare Lord. In the end, if Elise followed with her master to one of those parties she kept quiet and close to him. They eyed her with suspicion; she had heard more than one express their concern to the Nightmare Lord that he was keeping a former enemy so close.

His response was a laugh, and he said:

"Nonsense. I took their mind apart; they can't hunt me no matter what happens."

Elise was glad for this. No one could make her hunt master, or harm him. Her purpose was to be at his side, as long as he wanted her there.

-o-

The Nightmare Lord knew what Elise and Lucian thought of him; something higher than all else. He couldn't remember if he made them think that way, or if they started thinking that on their own. If they did meant they could think outside the box he trapped their minds in.

"Fascinating," he muttered, watching Lucian pull at the different books.

The man, no longer young in age but still having youthful looks, liked to look at the Nightmare Lord's books whenever he had a chance. He never stayed long enough to read more than a few pages at the time. The lord wondered why. Did Lucian feel it was not his right to read? His servants tip-toed around him, so careful and quiet most of the time. Like a few weeks ago, when Elise came with dinner to his own bedroom. He hadn't noticed her until she put down the plate.

They were so confusing to him. He thought he knew them, but Lucian's actions were not the normal ones he had been expecting. The lord knew he tried to preserve Lucian's personality better than he did with Elise but still… and Elise. He never gave her the mental command to make sure he himself ate. So why on Earth did she and Lucian try so hard every day to make meals he liked?

"Master?"

"Ignore me," he said.

"I can't do that," Lucian said.

"Well, I'm telling you to. I'm just… sitting here."

Lucian opened his mouth. Then he closed it, and turned back to the books. They were learning about the silence, which was good. The lord had no idea why their voices made him so angry sometimes. It was like he had no control over his own emotions.

Not that he'd tell anyone about it. There was no need for anyone to know but him that sometimes, he felt like he was losing his mind.

It didn't help when he remembered things without knowing where they came from, therefore nearing that lock inside his head. The lock that held a part of his life that was painful to remember. He couldn't remember what was so painful about it, but going near it was pure hell. Whatever he had lived through in the past, his mind had decided it was not for him to remember anymore.

The Nightmare Lord left the library and started wandering around. The manor was large, but right now it was too small. He had to get out.

But going out didn't help either. The grounds were too small. His Dementors, creatures he loved more than he loved himself, came closer and offered some comfort but not enough. He wanted the thoughts to go away. All the wondering and hesitation was driving him madder than he already was.

"Fuck!" he shouted. "Shit and crap and everything!"

He wanted to throw himself at the wall of the manor, smash his head open and have everything pour out until he was just a blank slate, but the last time he tried that the Dementors wouldn't settle for days. So he just slammed his hand against the manor, the physical pain blossoming up and removing everything else.

"I'm going," he said, flexing his hand and enjoying the way the pain flashed, like sparks of life.

One Dementor came closer, grasping at his robes.

"I need to destroy something… that village… there's a village, north-east I believe. Tell Elise I'll be there… well, for a while anyway."

The village hadn't done anything to him. It was a Muggle village, so they didn't know he existed. He didn't care. Their screams would make him feel better.

-o-

The village was still smoking by the time Elise made it there. She had been alerted by the Dementors per the lord's order. The Nightmare Lord was already on his way out, blood covering his hands and face. His robes were filled with more than just blood, it would be a hassle to clean it all off, and she could hear the wailing of a woman. This was unusual. He usually spared a child.

"Is it a woman this time?" she wondered.

"Yes. It was getting boring leaving a child alive. I wanted to see what happened if it was a mother."

He spoke so easily of the deaths he caused that Elise could not help but… not hate, no. She _admired _him for it. He was her lord and master, and she swore this had nothing to do with the fact he made her think a specific way. She was convinced she felt this sincerely. Whatever she had wanted to do to him before, when she was someone else, was something she'd die to protect him from now.

Not that her master believed her. For being such a powerful being, the Nightmare Lord had such fragile look of himself that he truly believed no one would _want_ to save him.

"Let's go," the lord said. "Have you made dinner yet?"

"Lucian is planning soup with slow-cooked, spiced meat on the side. The kind you told him about. We've never heard of it before."

"Well, it's the wrong time for it but I don't care," he said.

"What?"

"Nothing… I think. I don't know where that just came from."

The frown on his face was a familiar one. The confusion of saying something he didn't know where it came from was easy for Elise to recognize nowadays. Distraction was the best cure for it.

"What has this village done?" she asked. "The display with the heads on spikes is particularly interesting, master."

"Isn't it?" he said, clapping his bloody hands together. "I felt like a change of pace. They'll still know it's me, right? I mean, this is a Muggle village but the magical community will hear of this and know it's me."

"Naturally, master. They would be fools otherwise."

"Good, good. Not that they aren't fools most of the time, but I would prefer to have my work recognized no matter what I do."

She knew of no one else being as cruel as her master. As cruel but so wonderfully creative at the same time. As they turned to leave, a thought that had plagued her more and more came back. A thought she wished to destroy.

_He's wrong. He's bad. He needs to go away. Don't save him. The Nightmare Lord doesn't deserve to be saved. Kill him now, when his back is turned from you._

She squashed that thought. Sometimes her master seemed to believe that too, so it was hard to know what he truly wanted from life. But Elise had made a vow to herself, to always try and protect him. From others, and from himself.

-o-

By the time the year had passed 600 AD, the Nightmare Lord was a notion of madness spreading across the lands like a plague. He was the idea behind slaughter, generations of men playing at the fear of the common man, pretending to be a single entity.

It gladdened Elise that no one had realized her master was truly immortal. Well, no one wrong one at least. His followers seemed to believe he drank some special potion, as he only drank drinks prepared by her or Lucian, or ate some special food since it was the same on that front too.

Not that he ate much. Her master had a fondness for refusing food, going days without eating anything and hating everything in sight. She often found him curled up in bed with that container of ashes with him. Of all the things he had destroyed over the years, that container had never been touched. The ashes within was important, in what way he didn't know but the few times he believed he had damaged the container were times Elise had no wish to return to. The fear and despair that took him over instantly was enough to make her want to cradle her insane master in her arms, despite knowing he'd rip her arms out for that.

She also understood why few believed he was the same man; most people outside of the lord's followers never saw his face clearly. Those who did usually didn't live to tell the tale about it to others. It was easier to believe several men hiding behind a title, than to face the fact they had a Nightmare Lord who had no way of ending his life even if he wanted to.

The armies of dead people had increased over the years as the Nightmare Lord continued to experiment, mostly to avoid boredom. He still had no name for them, and cared little for the individuals. They were good in groups, and so he always made sure they went attacking in groups. They could be destroyed, but it took effort and he liked watching villagers being forced to burn walking corpses.

Sometimes, he even sent dead people to the villages where he had snatched them from.

"It's always entertaining to watch someone forced to kill a beloved family member of theirs," he told her and Lucian.

But their master never remained entertained for long. Part of his madness was the fact he didn't die, and so he found himself constantly seeking out new things. Often he had already seen it. Lucian and Elise were careful to say something was new when introducing it to him, because chances were he already knew something similar that had existed.

It happened every once in a while that their master could be settled down by reading. Lucian had read aloud and to their surprise, the Nightmare Lord had sat down to listen to it instead of going off on a rampage due to boredom.

To think their master and lord was at his most dangerous because he was bored… people would weep if they knew they died for entertainment. Elise supposed she could have died that way too, if he hadn't gotten fond of her. Same with Lucian.

However, they would be wrong to think that the Nightmare Lord thrived day in and out of people's fear. That worked for a while, then it got boring too. So he settled down to sleep away the days, or even the weeks. Elise and Lucian were getting used to it now, how deep their master could disappear in sleep and how sometimes it was the only coping mechanism he had left to use.

"How come we aren't bored?" Lucian asked one day, as the Nightmare Lord had just entered one of his sleep cycles.

They were airing out his room, no longer bothering to tiptoe around his bed. Not even shouting into his ear woke him up once he decided to really sleep.

Elise now stopped to consider this question. It was a valid one too, as they had lived for a few centuries at the very least. How come they weren't bored? Had she ever been bored since becoming his servant?

Before she was his, she had known boredom. She had felt impatient too, but mostly bored, doing nothing with the days given to her. Now though, she never felt it.

Had he erased that from her and Lucian? She didn't think so. There were moments, when she felt time drag on but it never really grew into boredom. She had a Nightmare Lord's manor to take care of after all. It also happened she had to take care of enemies he didn't bother with. No one was allowed to touch him if she could help it.

"I don't know," she told Lucian. "We're different from master I guess."

"Sometimes I wish he was more like us," Lucian confessed. "So he wouldn't feel bored."

You can't always get what you want.

-o-

The lord mostly went to parties his followers invited him to because he had nothing better to do, and sometimes drama occurred so he could watch people make fools out of themselves.

This time wasn't really any different. Two men were arguing quite loudly, and the lord was at a good spot both seeing and hearing it. They appeared to be fighting over ownership over some livestock.

A slight touch to his elbow and Lucian stood ready with a drink. Usually it was water; the lord rarely touched alcohol. He took the cup from Lucian and said:

"Why would people bother arguing about livestock? Just get new ones, or something."

"Humans often find things to argue about, when they have run out of other things to argue about," Lucian said.

"Well, that's true… found anything interesting?"

"The wife of the owner to this house is currently busy with one of her husband's friends."

"What, adultery? Let her have fun if that's what she wants, I can't say I blame her. Her husband is a very boring chap. He stammers."

"Only because it's you, master. He's in awe."

"He can do without the stammering, it's grating on my nerves."

The argument tuned down as the two men reached an agreement, and the Nightmare Lord moved on. Lucian followed behind him. Many of the younger ones, witches and wizards alike, tried to get a moment alone with him, some of them quite honest about what they wanted.

However, the lord had no need for either sex or a relationship. He's probably end up killing anyone crazy enough trying to get into his bed.

"I don't understand why they still like me, generation after generation," the lord said. "Look at me!"

"You're very handsome, master," Lucian said.

"Thank you, Lucian, you don't look bad yourself but look at me _personality-wise_."

"Oh… I suppose they stop looking once they see your face, master. In their minds, it appears that pretty people are not mad ones."

"Am I pretty?" the lord wondered.

"Yes," Lucian said.

"And mad?"

"Yes, quite so."

"So they're wrong?"

"Of course they are."

"Glad we worked that out. Oh, what is this?"

The Nightmare Lord never felt any shame in exploring people's houses. If he found something interesting, he usually took it too because hey, most of these people would be dead in a hundred years while he'd still be there.

His manor were filled with reminders that while people kept dying, he still lived.

What he found was a shining necklace. Oh, he loved shiny things. No one saw him slip the necklace into his pocket before moving on. Lucian trailed after him. Most of the people stared at him as he passed.

A girl almost ran into his legs. Lucian stiffened a bit behind the lord, but he didn't have to worry; the lord felt in a good mood, and only smiled at the child before letting her go her way.

"Master…"

"What? You can't always feel like killing children. Besides, she was rather sweet wasn't she?"

Although the lord remembered he'd killed a girl like that only a few months ago. He must have been in a bad mood, or the girl's parents pissed him off. Maybe he'd been bored. It was hard to keep track of the reasons when he rarely tried to find reason for the things he did to others. Besides, he no longer felt he needed a reason. He just killed. He was a monster, so why not behave like a proper one?

The drink Lucian had given him was still in his hand. He drained the cup and handed it back to Lucian who tucked it into his robes.

"Rather boring party," the lord commented. "No fire, no screaming, just… _mingling_. I'm not good at that part. Hate it."

"People don't expect you to speak with them, master. They are pleased just to see you."

"But that means I'm bored."

"It seems that more people than the wife pleases herself with private moments," Lucian said. "Would you care to try that, master?"

"Sex doesn't interest me," the Nightmare Lord said. "So that's a no."

"Private conversation then?"

"Too awkward. They would stare, and I'd lose my mind. These people will be gone in a hundred years, but there's no need to antagonize them by accidently killing half the people."

"Oh…"

Lucian had no more offers and the Nightmare Lord took another round through the house, did have some polite conversation and then fled into the night. On the way home, he stopped by the building that held the dead people. Lucian kept himself away from the corpses while the Nightmare Lord threw himself in their midst.

They moved closer to him, grasping at his robes and limbs but he didn't feel uneasy. Dead people didn't bother him. It was the living ones that had him worried at times. The Nightmare Lord could have the dead ones scatter in a moment, leaving him alone. He had no such power of those who lived. Sometimes he wished he had that kind of mind powers, because he felt it would make his life a lot easier.

But he wasn't that good, or nowhere that strong to accomplish such things. One by one, probably but not whole groups.

"Lucian?"

"Here, master."

Lucian had moved to one of the walls, but looked ready to climb the wall to escape the dead bodies.

"They're not going to harm you."

"Yes, I know master. They are just… unsettling."

"They're supposed to be unsettling," the Nightmare Lord said. "What else are they good for? I want to make them attack something now."

"Right at this moment, master?"

"Yes, now. No time like the present!"

He took them to a magical village, and had them all attack as he himself stood behind, listening to the screams. Spells rang out, lights tore up and the Nightmare Lord said:

"I think the magical people are doing rather well. That just makes me want to destroy them even more."

Lucian kept up with him but remained silent even as the lord played around with a wizard who tried keeping his wife and children alive. The children were screaming in their mother's arms, but it didn't bother the lord. When the wizard gave them a way out, Lucian cut it off and forced them back again.

"Why are you doing this?" the mother finally screamed, when her husband was as good as dead and her children were too shocked to even cry anymore.

"Because it's funny?" the Nightmare Lord said. "Do I have another reason, Lucian?"

"You wanted to test the dead people."

"Oh, that too! It's funny and I wanted to have them attack someone. You were just the closest thing I could find."

The look on her face was a familiar one to the lord. People, he learned, did not like to be made into fools. Therefore he tried to make them feel used and meaningless as often as he could. Their response to that was… fascinating, at times.

Like this one. She attacked him without a wand. Instead she came after him bare-handed. The Nightmare Lord was interested to see what she would do and let her attack.

After a little while, she had broken four of his fingers on his right hand, and smashed out a couple of his teeth. He kept laughing, spurring her on. Around them the village died out, little by little. Finally he punched her in the face, using magic to smash her cranium. She fell, not dying but definitely not feeling good.

"Lucian, the children," he said as he allowed his teeth to grow back. He cracked the fingers back into position and fed magic into them, healing the bones and tendons.

"What about them, master?"

"Which one gets to live? Perhaps none of them? Shall I try that once, just have everyone in the village killed?"

"You have never done that before."

"That means I should try it at least once, yes?"

"Don't… my children, don't touch them…"

The lord smiled down at the dying woman.

"I do whatever I want," he replied.

-o-

Years kept moving, and the Nightmare Lord kept on living. He tried hanging himself once, just to test it. After hanging there for ten minutes, he complained about the pain in his neck and sulked for the rest of the afternoon.

Elise brought him something to drink later.

"I don't want it," he said. "Don't speak."

She placed the cup down on a table far from him, and left without a word. Sometimes his mood shifted too quickly for them to keep up with. Elise knew by now that her master was losing his sanity, or had already lost a good part of it. He switched personalities like one changed clothes, and they never knew what Nightmare Lord they would see in the morning. Personally Elise liked the one who was curious. That one didn't look so sad, and painfully alone. That Nightmare Lord didn't hurt them. That one was hardly ever angry either.

But that part of her master was growing rarer to see; the world was boring and there was nothing to be curious about. Elise found plenty of things to be curious about but she and her master were very different. She never grew bored. He grew bored far too easily.

When she came back the bruises from the rope was gone, and her master was curled up on the couch. He was sleeping, his eyes moving beneath his eyelids. Every once in a while he would twitch. Elise had seen this before; had had many opportunities to watch the Nightmare Lord sleep.

He was dreaming something he would rather not. However, last time she woke him up he ripped her arm almost clean off her shoulder, so now she stood on a good distance before saying:

"Master."

Her voice made something in him react but not enough to wake up. Elise took a breath, stepped closer and raised her voice a bit:

"Master!"

He flew up from the couch, magic roaring and then looked around.

"No Aunt and Uncle?" he said.

"No, master," Elise said. "They're not here."

"Good, they made me eat burnt bacon because that fat pig complained about it," he said. Per usual, she had no idea what he was talking about.

She knew about Aunt and Uncle of course; demons in the head of a man who was everyone's nightmare. Demons she couldn't kill for him, because they weren't really there.

"He was opening… things, and complaining… all he could bloody do was complaining, and the sweets killed me…"

"Master?"

The Nightmare Lord blinked.

"No, the sweets weren't then," he corrected. "Why am I sleeping here?"

"I don't know, master…"

"What was I doing earlier?"

"You tried to hang yourself, master."

"Oh. Guess it didn't work, then."

"No. It did not."

She was glad it hadn't worked, and sad it hadn't worked. Glad because it meant her master was alive, and sad because it meant he was still alive. Because he didn't want to live today. Maybe she could…

"Master?"

"What?" he said, a bit too sharp. Her voice was making him angrier then.

"I tried to make a potion yesterday," she said. "It's supposed to put people to sleep."

He didn't say anything at first. Then he glanced over.

"Sleeping? For how long?"

"Just a day."

"You haven't tested it."

"No, master. There were no prisoners."

"None? Don't I usually have prisoners?"

"The last two were disappointing, so you fed them to the gardens."

"Oh. I want to test that potion then."

Just like she planned. Elise was sure it was correct, and her master could sleep the boredom away for at least a day.

She managed to have him take the potion in his bedroom but before drinking it he said:

"You should get prisoners again. I don't like when we don't have them."

"I will go out looking for them today then, master. How many would you like?"

"Fill the cells. No children though; their crying is aggravating."

"Understood, master."

He drank the potion and put the cup down on the bedside table. It was a fascinating little table to Elise, who had never seen anything like it before her master made one. He knew so many things that were foreign in her eyes.

"Oooh, it's working," the lord said and stumbled back, falling onto the bed. "Very… pleasant…"

Then he was out. Injuries and wounds healed quickly on him but poisons and potions worked very well on him. He usually vomited up the poisons after a while though. Elise carefully arranged his body into a more comfortable position and opened one of the windows. A few Dementors drifted inside.

"Look after him," she said, and left to get prisoners.

She snatched Muggle prisoners first, making sure to go to different parts of the country and avoid small villages. Then she moved to magical communities and villages, where she would meet more resistance. At one place, she was attacked.

"Why are you doing this?" the woman Elise had attempted to snatch said. "Why are you working for such a monster, who trick us good people?!"

"I am loyal to master," she said.

"Don't you understand what you're doing is wrong?"

"Of course I know this. But it's what master wants. What he wants, I provide for him with great pleasure."

"What has he done to you?"

_Tortured me, made me into something different… _those thoughts surfaced but Elise gave them no room to be spoken aloud. She had no memory of the torture after all, so she felt it would be wrong to mention it.

"He made me into Elise," was all she could say.

-o-

One day, past year 800 AD, the Nightmare Lord just stopped. No killings, no parties, nothing. He vanished. Well, not really.

Instead he sat down in his home and said:

"We're going."

"Going?" Elise said.

"Travelling," he clarified. "Killing and torturing is all good and fun, but I need to see more or else I will lose what I have left of my mind."

"Travel where?" she wondered.

"Anywhere, you fool. It's not like anyone can stop me."

"When?"

"Hmm, let's say… tomorrow."

"But the manor…"

"We'll lock it down. I'll lock down the building with the dead… that's gonna take more time than just a few hours. Alright, we'll go in a few days. I need to see anything else besides this familiar, boring place. I want to come back and see changes."

Thus began the sealing of the manor. Lucian and Elise worked on putting up wards and sealing stones inside the manor. The Nightmare Lord temporarily froze his personal garden of Dementors. The others he had put up survived on their own, feeding off rot and small animals. He just indulged this one garden by giving it human blood and corpses to feed on.

Elise had no idea what made her master wish to travel except for utter and complete boredom, but wasn't about to protest. He seemed set on having the two come with him, and also being in a good mood about it. She wondered how they would live though. Her master had grown used to the manor with all its room and hideouts; would he be alright with sleeping in perhaps lesser rooms wherever they went, or even out in the nature?

She supposed he had already thought about it, or didn't care. The Nightmare Lord liked big, open spaces but had on occasion slept in other people's homes without trouble. When she voiced this to Lucian, the man tilted his head and said:

"You sound… so concerned."

"Do I? Perhaps I do. I remember… someone being concerned for me, once."

"Really? Who was that?"

"My mother?"

"I don't remember mine," Lucian said. "Do mothers care?"

"Maybe?"

"What are you two on about?" the Nightmare Lord said.

"Mothers," Lucian said.

"Well, that's one of many things I know nothing about," he replied. "Come on, let's finish up, I want to see new things."

The manor was properly sealed within five days, and the Nightmare Lord had constructed a cloak that could carry all of his Dementors with him.

"It'll wear down eventually," he said, "but then I'll just make a new cloak. Easy."

The cloak bore no signs it held so many Dementors, or that it held any creatures at all. He wore it as they set out, the manor invisible to anyone but them. Elise had noted that he brought the container of ashes with him.

Leaving the country behind was something Elise and Lucian hadn't done. As it turned out, neither had their master.

"So you have no idea where we're going?" Lucian asked.

"No idea at all," the lord said. "It'll be interesting. Well, hopefully it'll be more interesting."

Elise and Lucian glanced at each other. How long before he destroyed a village in a foreign country?

-o-

As it turned out, he didn't destroy one for months. For as long as they had been with their master, he had never gone that long without causing chaos. But it seemed like the new cultures and languages and people kept him busy, made the curious Nightmare Lord come out.

They usually slept outside, away from people where the Dementors could come out and roam around. Elise and Lucian fell asleep to the sound of the Nightmare Lord speaking softly to himself, new words he had learnt during the day.

Travelling seemed to have a calming effect on him, as the boredom was slow to catch up with him and once he got tired of one place, they simply moved on to the next.

Elise and Lucian too found this travelling around rather nice. Elise found potions she had never heard about, and bought a book in which she could write down various potions and their effects on the human body. Lucian enjoyed picking up new books and try reading them aloud for their master, who was more indulgent towards them than he had ever been.

However, sometimes the curiosity got the better of him.

"Master, I don't think you should…" Lucian began.

"Why not? Fish, not that difficult, look, I've already got one in my hand… it's moving."

"Yes, master. It's still alive. Fish move when they're still alive. You should not eat it now."

"I am hungry. Do you see food around? I don't."

"Just give me a few minutes and I'll have something ready for you, master…"

"I have a fish in my hand."

"Then let me make a fire and start cooking it…"

"Hungry _now_."

"It will only take me a little while…" Lucian tried with.

"I'm eating it."

The Nightmare Lord kept a tight hold on the wriggling fish, still standing in the stream. He tilted his head, and then bit straight into the fish. Moments later he threw it away, spluttering and gagging.

"Master…"

"We will never have fish again," he told Lucian. "Never."

"It usually isn't eaten like that."

"I don't care, no more fish."

He spit out some raw fish and walked out of the stream. Lucian began to say something, but then closed his mouth and made a note to remind Elise that they would not serve fish to their master unless he requested it.

-o-

It took another month before Elise and the Nightmare Lord found themselves surrounded by people. Lucian had gone to buy ingredients for their dinner, and wasn't expected for another hour. For some reason, the lord had insisted he'd take the cloak with Dementors with him.

"Maybe I shouldn't have done that," the lord realized now as he looked around. "What a large group of… similar-looking people."

"Nightmare Lord! Today is the day you die!"

"Similar-looking, _angry _people. How do they know it's me? Hang on; we aren't in England anymore, why are they speaking English?"

"I don't know, master," Elise said.

"What have you done to her?"

"What?" he said.

One of the women pointed her wand at him. She looked a lot like Elise actually. The Nightmare Lord had another look around.

"Oh," he said. "You're related to her."

He pointed at Elise.

"You destroyed her," one man said. "Our ancestors, her siblings, vowed revenge. We've been preparing for many years! Our family's sole purpose of existence is to destroy you once and for all!"

"What a waste of purpose then," the lord said. "Sorry, but death doesn't exactly stick to me that easily."

"You want… to kill master?" Elise said.

"Once he's dead, you'll be free once more! You don't know us, but our ancestors have written about you. Their beloved sister, taken by the Nightmare Lord while her father and other family members were brutally murdered!"

"Yeah, we both know that part," the lord said. "We were there."

"Kill… master…"

"Elise?"

"That's not her name! Her real name is-!"

The Nightmare Lord moved, and had the man's tongue ripped out within moments.

"I didn't like her real name," he said as he threw the tongue over his shoulder, "so I changed it. She's Elise now."

"You won't stop… until he's… dead?" Elise said.

"Aid us in this, dear ancestor! Free the world from monsters like him!"

The Nightmare Lord stood up, the man dying underneath him. Elise hadn't moved. They hadn't met any of her family members actually, so he had to wonder what the hell they had been doing with their time. Or had anyone from her family attacked him? He had no idea, to be honest.

Elise looked up. He couldn't read her, which was annoying. He hadn't made her to become that good at concealing what she was thinking. He could always break into her head. But that would be rather unnecessary in this situation.

"You know him," one woman said, holding out her hand towards Elise. "You know what he's done! You know he deserves to die!"

This time, Elise moved. Not to take the woman's hand. Not to attack the lord. Even he was surprised at what she did.

Blood splattered onto Elise's face as she tore into the woman, breaking apart her ribcage and as a finishing touch, punching her in the face. Elise looked at them all.

"Master is cruelty," she said. "Master is not kind. He likes to kill, and maim, and torture. But… so do I."

_Well_, the Nightmare Lord thought as he defended himself whilst watching Elise tear through her own family members. _That was unexpected_.

He killed four of them but Elise took care of the rest. He had never seen her move like that. But every word from them about killing him seemed to spur Elise on and kill them even more slowly, ripping them into pieces.

By the time she had finished, only a few were alive, just barely. Their broken bones shining white against their skin. Their blood colouring the ground around them.

"No one… gets to harm master," Elise said. "Not even my family. I swear, master, that from now on… I'll hunt them down."

He stared at her. _Really unexpected… but dear, how fascinating. _

"Every single member of my family will die by my hand, for even daring to think they will harm you, master."

The Nightmare Lord couldn't help it; he started to laugh. Laughed at Elise's family for thinking they could convince her to kill him. Laughed at the thought he had made Elise just as bloodthirsty as himself. At last, he laughed because despite wanting to die, her declaration of killing her family to protect him… it warmed him up.

_Is this how it feels… to be treasured by someone?_

Before him, Elise only smiled, wiping her hands clean of her family's blood.

To be continued…

* * *

He's a shifty one, the Nightmare Lord, at least when it comes to personalities.

Chapter twenty: Once upon a time, two young witches and two young wizards came up with the idea of a school… then they stumble onto a nightmare's servant, and lo and behold, the Nightmare Lord is about to meet the four founders!

Look forward to it!

Until later,

Tiro


	20. Chapter 20

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

The moment many of you, and me, have been waiting for! The Nightmare Lord's about to meet the four founders. What will his reaction be?

_Gore and violence is described here._

-o-

**Chapter Twenty**

A crisp, late autumn's morning and Helga Hufflepuff wondered what the people in the village were so jumpy about. They kept glancing at one of the shops, but all she saw was a woman standing outside.

"Salazar, did you hear anything about something being wrong here?"

"Hmm?" He looked up from the potions ingredients, stroke away some hair from his face and then shrugged. "Nothing. Why?"

"They're nervous."

"You're making _me _nervous."

"Well, then you should've dragged Godric with you instead."

"No, he's too noisy to bring to a place like this."

"What is he, a beast?"

"Nearly so."

Helga huffed and returned to watch the woman outside the shop. The few times the woman glanced up, her eyes flashed silver. She had no expression on her face, and a healing cut on her lip. Otherwise she looked fine. What made others so wary of her?

Finally she stopped someone and said:

"Who's the woman over there?"

The man looked at Helga, barely dared a glance at the woman and then said:

"It's the Nightmare Lord's servant, that one. He himself is inside the shop. You're not from this village, right? I suggest you get out of here, you never know if he decides to destroy us or not."

He then moved on. Salazar stood up as Helga turned towards him, and he said:

"Yes, I heard that, Helga. The Nightmare Lord?"

They had grown up hearing about it. A group that faked immortality by allowing a man to pretend he was hundreds of years old. The Nightmare Lord, a name for men who enjoyed killing people. Once upon a time, the men left children as witnesses after destroying a village. But for almost two hundred years, that had shifted and now it was a parent. The men pretending to be the same Nightmare Lord killed the children in front of their mother or father, and let them tell the tale about it later.

Of course Helga didn't believe the Nightmare Lord was immortal. Her mother firmly believed it was a group that just enjoyed hurting people, and that was something that had passed onto Helga. How the woman could be a willing servant Helga had no idea. Did she believe in hurting people too? Or was she being manipulated somehow?

The door to the shop opened, and people moved away. The woman however turned and bent her head. A man stepped out. Helga felt Salazar's hand on her arm.

They had never seen the Nightmare Lord before, or at least, the one that was now. But Helga herself had read about it. It was always the same description, which showed this group's dedication to not being found out. Long, black hair. Piercing green eyes, and there it was… the slight smile and insanity vibrating from every inch of him.

The woman placed a cloak on his shoulders, and the Nightmare Lord began to walk. People stayed clear of him as he came closer where Helga and Salazar were standing. He moved past them, the woman walking behind him in silence. As he rounded the corner, both of them saw his smile widen as people fled from his sight.

-o-

There had been a period of almost ten years when the Nightmare Lord completely disappeared without a trace. No villages were attacked, no Dementors were sighted… not even walking corpses. Most thought that one of the men being the Nightmare Lord had died, and for some reason it took ten years to select a new one.

Helga knew this because of Rowena, whose father had been dedicated to find out everything he could about the Nightmare Lord. Unlike them, he believed the man to be immortal. He honestly thought that the Nightmare Lord was several hundreds years old.

Not that Helga couldn't get behind that thought, when opening up the subject of the Nightmare Lord. There were potions, surely, or objects, and other things that could prolong one's life… but to become immortal only to destroy things?

Godric wasn't that concerned about it.

"It's been settling down hasn't it?" he said. "For the last century, the attacks on the villages have decreased, and you don't really see Dementors around very much."

"Are you sure it was him?" Rowena asked.

"The villagers said it was," Helga replied, "so how could I argue? I've never seen him before myself, or his servant for that matter."

"Them seemed certain?" Godric said.

"More like terrified," Salazar said. "He liked it. Their fear. You could see it on him."

"I wonder how many other Nightmare Lords liked it as much as this one seemed to," Helga said.

"But think… think if it's the same man," Rowena said. "My father said there is of course no proof of this, but there is also nothing saying it's a group. That's only a rumour."

"I don't want to think it's the same man. It would mean the man is immortal only to harm people," Helga said.

"Let's not think too much of it," Salazar said. "We are far behind in our plans for the school, and I doubt we'll see him again."

-o-

Next time they didn't see him, but they saw the woman. She was in another village, a basket in her hand. This time she had a bruised cheek and rags wrapped around her hand. Helga squared her shoulders and walked up to the woman before the three could stop her.

"Excuse me," she said and the woman turned to her. "May I talk to you?"

The woman tilted her head, and then nodded. Helga took her arm and led her away from the market.

"Have you gone mad?" Salazar hissed.

"Maybe, but I want to know," she replied. "What's your name, dear?"

"I am Elise," the woman said.

"You are… a servant of this Nightmare Lord then?"

"Yes. You aren't going to attack me, are you? Master expects me back soon."

"Master?"

"Yes," Elise said. "My master, the Nightmare Lord."

"Oh. He made you call him that?"

"No, I call him that."

Helga cleared her throat.

"What is the bruise about, and your hand? It looks rather dreadful."

"Master was angry. He gets angry and I was too close this time."

Helga looked at Elise, and then turned to Rowena, Salazar and Godric. Salazar shrugged while Godric said:

"He hurt you? On purpose?"

"On purpose?" Elise repeated.

"He meant to hurt you?"

"Master only wished to release the anger," Elise said.

"But he hurt your face, and your hand," Godric said.

Abuse towards servants weren't unheard of, but it was something the four of them had agreed on that it needed to change. Elise didn't seem to understand.

"Yes, he did," she said, "but that's within his right."

"No, it's not," Helga said.

"Master owns me."

"He doesn't."

"I say he owns me."

"After he made you say it, right?"

"I tried to kill him once, long ago. He had the right to make me into his servant for that."

"What do you mean, long ago?" Rowena said.

"When I was young, and so was he. I tried to kill him."

"She must've had her mind manipulated by him," Salazar said. "Make her think they're old."

Elise looked at him.

"Are you saying master is lying?" she asked.

"Elise," Helga turned her attention back to her. "You do understand what he does is wrong, right?"

"He has the right to do it. He's my master."

"I don't think she'll ever admit it," Salazar said.

"Then I'll make sure she stays long enough to get it."

"What… what are you planning to do?"

Helga turned to them.

"I'm not letting a man pretending to be immortal to keep hurting people, even those who work for him."

-o-

When Elise failed to return, the Nightmare Lord wasn't too concerned at the start. He could still feel her, plus she was hard to kill. She could survive rather severe injuries before even slowing down.

Sometimes it was better if she and Lucian were late. He didn't like their tip-toeing around him. He mostly also didn't like their voices. He enjoyed the harsh breathing of the Dementors, their screeching voices… all that reminded him that they were far from human. He liked being reminded of that, and also being surrounded by non-humans.

It was no longer interesting to destroy villages. He tried from time to time, but watching children die, watching their parents die… it wasn't that much fun anymore. Instead he spent increasing amounts of time perfecting dead people. He had to give them a name at some point. He just wasn't sure of what he should call them. They were a lot tougher than the ones he had done hundreds of years ago.

But even that got boring eventually. Seeing the world had helped, so he took frequent trips to see some new place when the walls started creeping in on him.

The lord remembered a time when he liked hearing Elise and Lucian talk. He enjoyed having them around. Now their voices were grating on his nerves. Their devotion seeped inside of him like poison. It wasn't genuine. He had made them that way. That exact way. They had nothing inside of them that he hadn't forced them to think, the Nightmare Lord was convinced of this. The more they protested, the more he believed it.

Removing their tongues helped. They didn't speak when he took them away. Sometimes he only had to threaten them about for them to stop speaking for several days.

The Nightmare Lord got up from his chair. He hated that. Hated that part of him, that part of them. Hated being this creature, whilst despairing turning into something else.

The walls were closing in now. He threw open a window and breathed in the fresh air. As he glanced back, the shadows grew longer in the room. He took a hold of the window frame, stepped up on it and leaped out. Wild grass under his hands. He gripped it tightly, digging into the rich earth. As his hands met soil, the lord closed his eyes.

Laboured breathing, and a Dementor's hands on his shoulders. A sound, horrifying to others, pleasing to him and the lord said:

"Yes, I am being silly. Silly man. Have you seen Elise?"

More screeching and the Nightmare Lord rose up. The coldness of the Dementor didn't vanish.

"Where on Earth is that woman?"

He might as well go and find her.

"Guard the manor," he told the Dementor. "If Lucian comes back, tell him… hang on, he doesn't understand you. Wait, here…"

He transfigured a leaf into a paper and wrote _Out at the moment _on it before handing it over to the Dementor.

"Hand over that to him, and he'll know."

The Dementor screeched.

"I'll be fine on my own. I'm only finding Elise."

A hand on his shoulder, and he reached up to pat the Dementor on the cheek.

"Silly creature, worrying about me. I'll be fine."

Then he left the grounds. He travelled as a shadow towards the magical trace Elise had left behind. She was easy to follow, since her magical signal now seemed so alike his. After all, he had put a lot of his own energy and magic into her.

He stopped after a while, and had a look around. There was a lake, and beyond, a forest that caught his attention. It was familiar. But he had never been here before. Or had he?

There was also some kind of building going up. It was a huge structure, and the lord tilted his head. There was something on the tip of his tongue…

"H… something on H… but what?"

He moved closer, found wards and tore them down.

-o-

They all felt the wards go down and Elise rose up.

"Master is here."

"How did he find his way here?" Salazar said as he rose up.

"Master always finds me," Elise said. "Because I have his magic in me."

By just existing, she was a beacon. She couldn't lose him even if she wanted to. Helga stood up.

"I took her here," she said. "I'll face him alone."

"No, you're not," Godric said. "Either none of us, or all four."

"Of course," Rowena said and got up.

"I can just go," Elise said. "It's me he wants."

"No," Helga said. "I won't let him just walk away with you."

"But he owns me. You have no right to keep me away from him."

"He doesn't own you."

"He does," Elise said. "People owning people are everywhere. It's not unusual."

"Well, it shouldn't exist and you're not going out there just to let him have his way with you!"

With that, Helga walked to the exit. The building around them was bare, barely begun. It was a grand plan of theirs, to build a school. A great castle, and let education come into place in the magical world. It was their dream.

But Helga wasn't concerned about the dream right now as she stepped through rubble and came to the entrance doors. As she opened them, she found herself standing eye to eye with the Nightmare Lord.

He stopped once he saw her. He looked a lot younger than she thought, once she saw him up close. Something about his eyes unnerved her, the ways they fixated on her. The way he wouldn't really blink. He came a bit closer, never letting his eyes stray from her face.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Helga Hufflepuff," she said. "You're looking for Elise."

"Yes. You're not a friend of hers."

"How would you know?"

"Elise has no friends," the man said. "If she had, she'd tell me about it."

Elise came up behind Helga, but was stopped by Rowena. The Nightmare Lord gazed from one to another, all four of them and tapped his lips absently with his fingers. Then he looked at the bare walls that had begun to rise, and the doors Helga had pushed open.

"You're building something awfully big here," he said.

"I'm not allowing Elise to come with you," Helga said instead of telling him anything about the building.

"Who are you to stop me?"

"You're a killer," Helga said.

"I know."

"You've killed a lot of people."

"I am aware of that!" the Nightmare Lord screamed.

The magic that came from him was violently clashing with the air before he pulled it back. All four had flinched. Elise hadn't moved a muscle. He himself didn't look very pleased at the lashing out, and he finally looked away for a moment.

"Why?" was all Helga could ask.

"Because it's fun."

"Fun?"

"Yes, fun. What, you expected a _rational _answer from me?" He started to laugh. "Oh, you're a funny one. I like you. Elise, do you like her?"

"She made tea," Elise said.

"Did she now? Was it good tea?"

"Yes. And the others talked."

"Did you mind them talking?" the Nightmare Lord asked.

"No."

"Good. I suppose."

"Master, are you going to… kill the other three?" Elise asked.

"… No. I'll let them live."

"You think you can kill us?" Godric demanded to know.

"Boy, I can blast your organs out of your body before you know it," the lord said, "but I won't do it."

"Elise is not going with you," Helga said.

"Why not?"

"Because you hurt her!"

"Yes. That's my business and not yours."

"I won't allow it!"

"You think you can stop me?" the lord asked. "The jokes keep on coming!"

"Why do you hurt her?"

"Why? Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to."

"I want to know why!" Helga told him.

"For fun," he said.

"What?"

"I always do everything for fun, or to not be bored. Well, most of the time I do that. Don't I, Elise?"

"Master hates being bored."

"And what does master do when he is bored?" the lord asked, smiling.

Elise didn't even hesitate:

"He destroys a village. He rips people apart. He kills children and lets the parents watch."

"And you want to know why I sometimes happen to slap her?" the lord said to Helga, pointing at Elise. "I take her tongue too, if you want to know."

"Why?"

"Because it makes her shut up."

"I will not stand for that kind of cruelty."

The lord drew back a bit.

"You're rather confusing," he admitted. "You don't know her. You can't stop me from taking her. You're… nothing. Yet you refuse to stand down."

"You're the delusional one. You and that group of yours. Keeping the image of a single Nightmare Lord alive for so many years, just so you can hurt people."

"Hmm… I expected you to be smarter than that. All of you. But I don't know why. Humanity is stupid after all."

"Doesn't that include yourself?" Godric demanded to know.

"Well, I never said I was that clever now did I?" the Nightmare Lord said. "I'm cruel. I'm hated. By others, by myself. Elise, come here. We're leaving."

Elise shrugged off Rowena's grip and walked to her master. He grabbed her by the jaw and looked at her, then at the four friends.

"Normally I punish tardiness, because it's expected to be punished," he said. "But since Elise had such a… _good _time here, I'll let it slide."

"Master is too kind," Elise said and the lord laughed.

"Now that's a joke if I ever heard one. Come on now."

Helga took out her wand and pointed it at the Nightmare Lord.

"Perhaps others let you be cruel, perhaps Elise lets you… but I don't stand for that," she said. "I won't. I _can't _stand for it."

"Well, go cry yourself a river and then pat yourself on the back for being so _caring_," the lord said. "It won't change anything anyway."

"No. Elise, step away from your master."

"Why?" Elise asked.

"Because otherwise I'll end up hurting you too."

Salazar took out his wand; Rowena and Godric soon followed. They all aimed them at the Nightmare Lord. He pushed Elise out of the way and smiled. It wasn't as pleasant as the first one.

"Usually I wouldn't hesitate. Those who raise their wands at me are dead. Why do I hesitate now?" He looked up at the building. "There's something… towers."

"What?" Helga said.

"You will have towers," he told her. "And a grand hall. Corridors with no roof in sight, yes…"

_How does he know? _Helga wondered. _About the building… no, he must be guessing!_

"Wait… I think… if you're Hufflepuff, then…" the lord looked at them again. He seemed confused. Elise was looking at him too with wonder. "There should be a Gryffindor, and a Slytherin, and a Ravenclaw as well."

"How do you know our names?" Godric asked.

The Nightmare Lord hummed, then said:

"Don't know. But there is… yes. Can't kill… too important to kill."

"Master?"

But he was moving, swift as a snake. He grabbed Elise around the waist, and then vanished with a crack. Helga lowered her wand, and realized she was shaking.

"How did he know our names?" she repeated and looked at her friends. "And the castle, how did he know?"

"He must have guessed," Salazar said.

"You don't sound convinced," Godric replied. "What did he mean, too important to kill?"

Helga realized that for all the things she knew about the Nightmare Lord, she didn't know a single thing about the man as an individual.

-o-

The Nightmare Lord himself was a mess of emotions raging inside of him. He felt… happy. He felt confused about the happiness. The rage was simmering just below, the longer he went without knowing why he was happy.

"Master, what did you mean, too important to kill?" Elise said.

"Such an honour…" he whispered instead.

Lucian, who had come out in the hall once they arrived, looked at Elise.

"Honour, master?" he then said. "Who did you meet, Elise?"

"Helga Hufflepuff, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw and Godric Gryffindor," the Nightmare Lord said before Elise could open her mouth.

"Do you know them, master?" she asked.

"No. And yes… sort of?" He stared up at the roof.

As this went on for a few minutes, Elise backed away a little bit. Lucian did as well.

"Master is acting odd again," Elise said.

"Why am I thinking about a chamber? And a sword, and a diadem, and a cup as well as some bloody necklace that was more trouble than it was worth?!"

The lord whirled around and stalked into the living room. His servants decided not to follow him. This was a good decision, as they heard his yelling start up again.

"Odd?" Lucian said. "He sounds like normal."

"I was with four people, and he came to get me, but he was almost… _civil _to them."

"That's odd," he admitted. "What did they do to impress master?"

"That's the thing… they did nothing. They were powerless children and he let them live. Even when one of them said he was hurting him. She was nice. She made tea."

"How unusual."

"Most curious," she added.

Something broke in the living room.

"That would be the vase I put in there," Elise said.

"The one you put in there so he would have something to destroy?"

"Yes, that one."

"You only put it there yesterday."

"Well, master has a temper after all."

He came back out a while later and looked at them.

"I think I'm hungry," he said.

"I'll make some dinner," Lucian said. "What would you like, master?"

"Anything that isn't cold or soggy."

"Master?"

He turned to Elise. She hesitated for a moment, and then said:

"May we go… there again? To the four friends?"

He looked at her.

"If you… _really _wish to do so," he replied. "I'll be in my room. Don't expect me to eat downstairs tonight."

The shock was so great they didn't move as he walked upstairs.

"Did master just comply?" Elise said at last.

"Yes… I think. I've never seen it before. Not with us."

-o-

When the Nightmare Lord came back a few days later, Helga was shocked. She didn't think he'd come back. Behind him Elise showed up.

"What are you doing here?" Godric said, wand in his hand.

"Elise… wished to visit. Again. She liked the tea after all."

"That's nice," Helga said. "And you? Here to watch over her, make sure she doesn't make friends?"

"No. I don't generally care if she has friends or not. She had one once, but that one died. Old age, and all that. No, I came because… you said I was cruel."

"Yes, I did."

"Cruel is the opposite of kind."

"I know."

"You wish me to be… _kind _towards Elise?"

"Yes."

"Thought so. I've been cruel for so long, I thought it would be… nice to change. Maybe."

"You'll… stop?" Helga said, barely daring to hope. "Stop hurting her?"

"Um, there's the root of the problem. I don't know how to."

"What?"

Rowena and Salazar were approaching them, almost running. But Helga wasn't that worried this time that the Nightmare Lord would be doing any harm to them.

"This whole kindness business," he said. "I don't know it."

"You don't… know how to be kind?" Helga asked.

"Precisely."

"How do you not know that?"

"Because no one has ever been kind to me."

She stared at him. He didn't look to be lying. Whatever he thought, he genuinely seemed to think no one had ever been kind to him.

"No one?" she said.

"None that I can remember anyway," the lord said.

"What about family? Don't you have a family?"

"Aunt and Uncle," he said, "but they are demons."

"What?"

"Demons," he repeated. "They are demons."

"What do you mean, demons?"

"Just demons," the Nightmare Lord said, "what does it matter?"

"It matters, because you don't call family members demons!"

"You don't?" he asked. "Oh. Didn't know that. Did you know that, Elise?"

"I think I do. I never used to call them demons."

"Is that so? Well, I do. Call them demons, I mean."

"What did they do to you?" Helga asked.

"They showed me this cruelty business," the Nightmare Lord said, and then smiled. It wasn't particularly reassuring, watching the lord smile. There was this darkness simmering just underneath the surface that had Helga grip her wand at her side. "I guess, you are what you know. Uncle liked to hit. Aunt made due with words. She had a wicked tongue, and Uncle had big fists."

_How much was this man abused to turn into this twisted monster? _Helga wondered.

"But enough about Aunt and Uncle. If I speak too much about them, they'll come."

"Where?" Rowena asked.

"Here," he replied and pointed at his head. "Clawing at my thoughts, tearing down the walls, laugh as if I was locked up there again."

"Locked up where?"

"Nowhere important," he said and retreated a bit. "Elise wanted tea. Or something. We can… talk this not-cruelty thing in a bit, I need… a moment or two."

He walked away without saying anything more. When Rowena moved to follow, Elise caught her arm and said:

"Don't follow master."

"Why not? He's obviously upset!"

"Master slaughters people when he's upset," Elise said. "So don't follow him. Master will come back, once he's calmer."

"Who are his family? Did he kill them?" Godric asked her, as Helga took both her and Rowena's arms, leading them inside.

"Master never said. But they visit him often."

"Then they're alive."

"No," Elise said. "They visit him in his head. At night. When he dreams. I often wake up to his screams. He doesn't like the dreams."

"Nightmares," Helga said. "He has nightmares?"

"Isn't he called the Nightmare Lord?" Salazar said.

"Master said it once," Elise said as they entered the barely begun castle. She looked at them. "Even monsters can hate themselves. Even monsters can have nightmares."

"If he hates himself, why doesn't he just get rid of himself?" Rowena wondered.

"That's not for me to say," Elise replied.

She refused to say anything about her master and so Helga made some tea and sat down with her to talk. Meanwhile, the other three walked back out where they could see the Nightmare Lord. He had wandered down to the lake, and was walking alongside the shore.

"You believe her, either of you?" Salazar said. "And him, about this aunt and uncle of his?"

"It's hard to tell when we don't know Elise or the lord that well," Rowena said. "What I do understand is that Elise has some twisted sense of loyalty to him."

"You think he made her that way?" Godric asked.

"To be honest," Salazar said, "I have no idea about this man. He looks young but… the way both he and Elise speak… they're older than we think."

"You think it's true, that they're immortal?" Rowena wondered.

"I didn't say that. But… I don't know. They're older than us, I think. More experienced. And deadly. Both of them."

"Elise as well?"

"She has this aura around her. She seems calm, but some animals are calm until provoked. Once they are provoked, they're vicious."

"And him?" Rowena said, nodding at the Nightmare Lord's shape moving along the lakeside.

"Perhaps he's just a madman."

-o-

The Nightmare Lord wouldn't protest Salazar's words. Madman would certainly be a word to describe him. What he didn't know was what made him tell them about Aunt and Uncle. The demons had so far only been something his Dementors, Elise and Lucian knew about.

He stopped, and sat down, looking over the lake. He remembered the lake. Someone skipping stones on top of the water… a great shape of a man, in awful clothes… crying, hurt, angry? But the lake… the lord picked up a stone. The lake was so familiar. But he had never been in this part of the country before.

The smooth stone in his hand wasn't comforting. He found a jagged one and held it tightly, tight enough for pain to travel up his arm. Then he let it go and watched the tiny wounds mend themselves. He didn't like when the small wounds healed so quickly. But he wasn't sure how to stop it from healing at the pace it did. It was better with larger wounds. He could direct his magic towards different areas in his body then, unless he was so damaged he simply slipped into a magical coma instead.

Chancing a glance back at the base for the castle, his mind wandered off even more. He had _seen_ the castle, when it was whole. It had stairs that moved, and portraits everywhere. There was a grand hall.

But it didn't exist. Had he merely dreamt it up, and now applied the dream castle to this one? For some reason, the Nightmare Lord didn't think so.

What to do? Helga Hufflepuff wanted him to be kind. He had no idea what that meant. Perhaps he knew, once upon a time but if so, he's forgotten it by now. He knew no kindness, not towards others, not towards himself. He loved and hated himself. Some days he was glad to live, others he despised that fact. If he ever tried to remember kindness, the pain would take over. Somewhere in his head there was a lock, and it didn't want to be opened. Begged not to be opened. Something would hurt if he did, and the lord knew in the end that something was him. He could deal with the physical pain. It was the mental one he feared.

He rose up. Madman or not, these four were interesting. He wouldn't mind sticking around for a bit. Perhaps he'd learn something new. The best cure for boredom was learning something new, and he hadn't had that cure for a long time now.

The Nightmare Lord turned back to the castle, and it struck him. A name rose, from some forgotten corner of his mind, small slivers of old memories he didn't understand. Small enough they didn't pain him much. This one apparently good enough to soothe him, as he began to walk back.

_Hogwarts… it's name is Hogwarts._

To be continued…

* * *

Finally done! I've been busy with so many other things fanfiction just had to take a step back for a bit.

Chapter twenty-one: A castle is built, and a Nightmare Lord learns.

Until later,

Tiro


	21. Chapter 21

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Question for you all; who would be interested in seeing what happened to Draco and Rabastan in the time Harry left behind, and how I could make further twists with time and parallel universes there? I had an idea about it a while ago after a few reviewers suggested it, and wondered if I should develop it. It's not going to be that long I believe, but it could be interesting. Let me know.

And now, read and enjoy!

_Gore and violence is described here._

-o-

**Chapter Twenty-One**

The castle walls went up slowly. It was only four people working on it after all. Well, four and one more occasionally.

Helga was surprised that the Nightmare Lord kept coming back. He even brought his other servant, Lucian, with him. When asked about the others he said:

"What others?"

"You have more servants, right?" Rowena said.

"Oh, are you one of those?"

"One of what?"

"Who think I have a mountain of servants," the Lord said. "I only got two. These two. They'll do just fine."

They didn't know what to make of him. He was cruel at times, then seemed angry at himself for the same cruelty. They often noticed him holding jagged stones in his hands, but he seldom told them why. Godric said he found blood on the stones once. Helga decided to ask Elise instead of the Nightmare Lord.

"Master does what he wants," Elise said.

"Including hurting himself?" Rowena asked. "If he's that conflicted about himself, why doesn't he just stop being the Nightmare Lord?"

"He has no other identity. His name is the Nightmare Lord. Master has nothing to be if the title goes away."

"Everyone has real names," Rowena said.

"Not master. Master has no other name."

Rowena asked the Nightmare Lord later about that, and he said:

"Oh, she's right, I don't have a name."

"Everyone has names," Rowena told him just as she had told Elise.

"Well, I don't remember mine," he replied. "I tried once. I ended up in such pain I decided never to try again. I can fend off physical pain, but the one that is in my head? That one is _excruciating._"

He was in a better mood when they didn't ask questions. Helga wasn't scared to ask questions, but those about his past didn't lead anywhere so she stopped with those. She'd tell him what kindness entailed. It was surprising how much he listened to that, despite not quite believing it.

"Kindness is strange," he said. "You're not sure you gain anything from it?"

"What did you gain from being who you are?" Helga wondered.

"Fear, and people learning not to trick me," he replied.

He never stayed for any meals, not until a month in when Rowena caught him just before he managed to slip away.

"Why don't you stay for supper?" she asked.

He looked at her, then down at the table with food.

"Usually I'd get poisoned at this point," he said, "but you… you'd tell me."

"Of course I would," Rowena said. "It's just meat with herbs."

"Poisonous herbs by any chance?"

"No."

"Pity; would've made eating more interesting."

"You would be dead if you ate poison."

"No, believe me; I've tried."

But he sat down, and then forcefully dragged down Elise and Lucian as well.

"They think they shouldn't eat with me," the lord explained. "It's just easier to pull them down than being delicate in convincing them."

They had never seen him eat before and were therefore surprised to see how picky he was. He didn't eat much either, and refused the wine. Elise poured him a cup of water.

"Foul thing," he snarled at the wine. "Taste foul, makes people do foul things."

"And you don't do foul things?" Helga challenged.

"You got me there, girl. I do foul things, almost all the time but at least I don't pretend that it's the drinks that make me do it."

Helga didn't know what to say about that and therefore left it alone. The lord drank more of the water than the food, and left early. But next time Rowena invited him for a meal, he didn't ask whether they had poisoned the food or not.

It was when he took Dementors with him the first time that Salazar told them something.

"He does know kindness."

"What?" Helga said. "He does not! He said so himself."

"Look at him now," Salazar urged. "With the Dementors. Now."

They walked to the entrance doors, and watched the Nightmare Lord. The foul creatures were not something they had wanted to see up close, but the lord at least kept them away from the castle itself.

Now, he was… he was laughing, surrounded by them. They grasped his robes, his arms, and he took their terrible heads in his hands like they were something worthy of love. His smile changed his whole demeanour. Helga dropped the plans she had been holding.

"I thought he didn't know kindness," she whispered. "I didn't even know he could laugh that way."

"How?" Godric asked. "He doesn't treat his servants like that."

"The creatures are his children," Salazar said. "That's what he said anyway. I guess he had just enough love in him to love them."

"But he said he didn't know kindness, yet he is kind with them. Was he lying?" Helga said.

"Maybe he didn't know he was kind to them," Salazar said. "If he doesn't know what it means to be kind, then he perhaps doesn't think of his actions towards Dementors as kind."

The Dementors screeched, their language terrible, and to their shock, the Nightmare Lord replied in similar sounds. Neither Elise nor Lucian seemed uncomfortable to walk around the Dementors, but they didn't realize their master's actions as kindness.

"What in the name of Merlin happened to them to make them this way?" Helga wondered.

-o-

The Nightmare Lord kept it together while at the castle, Hogwarts, but the dreams… oh, how he loathed the dreams! He started staying up at night, two nights… anything to be so tired when he slept there was nothing but darkness. Darkness and no dreams.

No dreams of having known the four friends in a different light, as if they had been dead for a long time and he lived in their castle, except he was small and only knew of them as long lost pieces of history. No dreams of Aunt and Uncle, them ready to torture him, lock him up, ignore his very existence. No dreams of a strange redheaded man who reached out a hand, always ready with a smile, a smile the lord had no idea if he deserved.

His head was hurting too, even after he had managed to sleep without dreams. The locks he had put in his head were starting to break. Memories came through, in flashes, and left him screaming in agony, writhing on the floor. He found himself more than once being cradled by his Dementors, them stroking soothing hands through his hair, their voices drowning out odd noises. Their presence meant everything to him.

Elise and Lucian tried to help. They made his favourite foods. Lucian made a drink sweetened with honey; the lord decided he liked it before bed, and Lucian never failed to make it every night. He tolerated them mostly, then came short bursts of intense anger where he wanted everything to disappear.

"I hate being me," the lord moaned. "Dear God, someone, make me disappear!"

"Master…" Elise tried.

He threw a book at her and wailed, hiding his face in his hands. He hadn't meant to do that. His body kept moving on its own, and it only made him feel like shit. He was a horrible, horrible man. He wished he could end it all.

After his third attempt with the knives, Lucian and Elise hid all the knives. He tore through a whole room after that, crawling over broken glass and slicing his skin up. All that was left behind was his blood on the floor, and nothing on his skin. Not even a scar.

So he went back to the unfinished school often, because he felt much calmer there. Elise and Lucian liked it there. He could walk around the grounds for hours without wanting to hurt himself. Sometimes he sprawled down on the grass and felt as if he had done that before, when he was young… despite not remembering a time when he was young. For every time he remembered something, a crack formed somewhere inside his head and it wouldn't heal. One day it would simply crack open; that somewhere in his head and the Nightmare Lord feared that day.

"I'm going mad," he informed Elise one day.

"Master?"

"No, I am mad. But I'm turning madder than usual."

"Do you require anything?"

"Yes, a poison that will actually kill me. Basilisk venom, have I tried basilisk venom?"

"You have, master. You said it tasted lemony, before vomiting for an hour."

"Oh, was that the basilisk venom? Shame; it's supposed to kill normal people."

At least the four friends were entertaining, while he was there. Their slightest actions were making him feel in awe, and then feel stupid about feeling in awe but he returned to them anyway. It was too good of a distraction to get rid of it anyway. Even Helga, the most suspicious one, was warming up to him.

The easiest was Salazar. The man had no great love for Muggles, and the lord didn't feel he had to hold his tongue as much. He was surprised at himself trying to not say certain things about this and that, surprised that he cared what they thought about him.

They still didn't like his Dementors though, not even Salazar. Oh well, no one's perfect. The lord respected their wishes and didn't bring his children into the half-finished castle.

He should have known though to tell the Dementors that, as proved when Rowena gave up a shriek seeing one of the Dementors loitering around the doors to the great hall.

"Oh," the lord said. "Silly creature, what are you doing?"

The Dementor screeched, pawing for his robes and hugging him as he came close enough. Rowena stared at them both.

"I'll just take this one outside, alright?" the Nightmare Lord told her. "Should've mentioned to them they couldn't go inside… yes, yes, silly, we're going. What? No, I'm not doing that. A what? You're a Dementor, how can _that _scare you?"

The Dementor kept screeching as he walked outside with it, one rotten hand holding onto his robes, and he thought he heard giggling. He turned around, but Rowena had her hand over her mouth and just waved him away. Normally he would've killed people for that. Now he just walked away.

-o-

The stairs… Helga wasn't sure what to make of the stairs. Logic told her she should make them all very clear, allowing the students to go up and down easily to each floor. But logic… there was something… _boring_ about it. Just plain stairs. Maybe decorations on them? Would that be enough? No, something else… moving?

"You should make the stairs move."

Helga jumped and whirled around but the Nightmare Lord only looked at the plans spread out on the table.

"Move?" she said and that felt right. It had been at the forefront at her mind. She still had to ask, though. "Why?"

"Because it would be funny," he replied. "Don't you think it'd be funny?"

She didn't know he had that kind of humour. Sarcasm yes, he seemed to breathe it, but humour like that? It was rather nice to know, however screwed up he was, there was something _normal _about him.

"Oh. Yes, it does sound funny," she said, because you needed to have fun in a school. It couldn't all be about education. "But students could run late."

_Damn you logic for turning against me. _She'd rather listen to the lord to be honest.

"They're magical students," he solved for her. "It would be _educational_, teach them a trick or two."

"Thank you for saying that," she said and smiled. "Okay… moving stairs. Oh, this is going to be fun."

And so Godric put the 'stupid, bloody moving stairs' down as both their fault. Salazar howled with laughter seeing his friend trying to get up to the third floor, all whilst Helga shouted:

"I haven't perfected it yet!"

"I don't know," the Nightmare Lord said, "that looks absolutely perfect. Chaos. I like it."

"Of course you would," she muttered. "If I don't get a hang of it, I'll put it down as _your _creation and therefore _your _fault."

"I'd like to see you try, girl."

But he helped her. For a week they perfected the stairs together, both taking credit and Godric resolving to just fly up on a broom.

"You have to try them eventually," the Nightmare Lord said.

Godric did in the end, and got trapped in a fake step. Helga, Rowena and Salazar looked at the lord who shrugged and said:

"It's got to be a bit challenging, right?"

-o-

But as time went by, they noticed something was wrong with the lord. The one they had met in the beginning had mellowed out, perhaps only around them, but now he was listless. He complained about headaches, walked straight into walls because the light hurt his eyes which ended up with him wandering around with his eyes closed.

He was often found outside with his Dementors, them huddling around him, stroking his hair, his back, their wheezing sounds making the four friends' chests ache.

"Is your master quite alright?" Salazar asked Elise one day. It had changed from spring to early autumn since they had met the man, and the days had flown past them all.

"No," she said. "Master hasn't been alright for a long, long time."

"I meant… recently?"

They'd largely given up trying to find out whether the Nightmare Lord was immortal or not. He and the servants spoke as if they were old, but the four friends were hesitant to believe it.

"He has headaches," Elise said. "A lot of them. He says dreams are unpleasant, and master has tried to stop sleeping."

"Why?" Helga wondered.

"Because if master stays up long enough, he has no strange dreams when he collapses," Elise said. "I don't know what will help. Not even potions can make the dreams go away. Master used to be able to sleep for long periods. Days and weeks on end, but he says it doesn't work anymore. Not right now."

They didn't quite know what to say about that, but they could tell Elise was worried. Especially when the lord began to refuse food, and instead flung himself into helping with the castle, by doing the most dangerous parts. He seemed to be thrilled when Godric howled:

"If you walk that way, you can fall and break your neck, you fool of a lord!"

They anxiously watched him move with the grace of a dancer across half-finished walls, Lucian and Elise following his movements with their eyes. The lord never fell. Instead he just kept on working and for the first time, they would have him there at night as well.

"It's probably not what you're used to," Helga said as she showed him a cot they had prepared.

"Oh, I've had much, much worse than this, Helga. This is luxurious in comparison."

He didn't seem to be lying, and lay down on the cot. He smiled.

"Much better than most. Well, my bed is the best but I'm biased."

"I'm quite sure your bed is the best," Helga said. "Sleep well, lord."

"Oh… I hope I don't scream too much."

She thought he was joking. When she was jolted awake later, by the sounds of someone's screaming she didn't think it was the Nightmare Lord at first. But as she moved to the room they had set aside for him, and found Lucian and Elise trying to hold him back from scratching his own face, as he was still screaming, she found out that about such things, the man rarely joked.

When he finally woke up, the lord said nothing. He just curled up on the bed, crying silently as he stared into the wall. He allowed Lucian to gently stroke his back for a bit before growling and getting off the bed. To their surprise, he crawled underneath the bed and screamed:

"If you don't get the lights away, I'll tear out your throats! Go away!"

Elise hurried to drag Lucian away and pushed them all out of the room, then closed the door gently behind her. She listened through it for a while and said:

"We will not go in unless master says we can, or he comes out himself."

"Does he do that every night?" Godric asked.

He, Salazar and Rowena had joined Helga at the door earlier, all of them having witnessed the lord's struggles.

"Every night he tries to sleep anyway," Elise told them.

The Nightmare Lord left in the early morning, when they had once more gone to bed. He didn't come back for days and when he did, he didn't look them in the eyes.

"People have nightmares, you know," Rowena told him.

"It's ironic though, isn't it?" he said. "I'm called the Nightmare Lord, and I dream such things…"

"Who gave you that title?"

"Everyone. I like it you know. It makes people leave me alone. Except for you. You don't fear me."

"In the beginning, we did."

"You didn't show it," he told her. "That's the difference. You feared me, but still stood up. Courage. Not a lot of people have that."

"Are you ever afraid?" she wondered.

"I was once, I think. The memories are gone. I… locked them up. They hurt when they try to come back, so I don't let myself remember." He touched his head. "But nowadays, I fear little. Perhaps too little. Elise and Lucian are scared they'll lose me. Why are they scared of that?"

"You're their master."

"Only because I made them that."

He rarely spoke about it. Rowena wasn't sure what to say to make him continue without making him feel he was forced to speak about it. But she didn't have to say anything. The lord picked up a sharp rock, as they sat near the lake, and continued:

"I tore into their heads and made them mine. I stole their will and forced them to obey me. They say they're loyal, and they are, but not out of their free will."

"They certainly think so."

"Of course they do."

"You really think you control them that well?"

"I don't control them, I changed them. What they feel now is what my magic told them to feel."

Rowena wasn't so sure. She had seen it in them both; their love for their master. Elise worshipped the ground he walked on. Lucian did as well. They went out of their way to make him comfortable, but held back their affection. Perhaps they knew he would be bad at receiving it. But they loved him. As the lord seemed to have little understanding of love, had they come to feel that love naturally? She wondered. She had no idea. Perhaps she'd never know.

She watched him hold the stone tighter, and was then alarmed when she saw the blood. He stopped her from getting up, and turned to her. Rowena wondered how he did not realize he held so many emotions inside himself, how he seemed to think he had no love or compassion.

All she saw now though was a deep sadness in his eyes as he said:

"It heals so quick, don't bother."

"Why are you hurting yourself?"

He dropped the rock and together they watched the small wounds mend themselves, leaving only blood behind.

"It's life," he said. "The sharpness, the blood… it reminds me I'm alive."

-o-

Of course, there always comes a day when it all breaks down. The Nightmare Lord had been behaving more oddly than usual; switching tempers like swift weather changes, hurling insults only to retreat and beat his fists bloody against castle walls. It was like that night, when they had heard him scream himself awake from nightmares, had changed something. He had become unhinged.

He was not a friend, not yet, but he was approaching that stage where they all would call him friend. Having seen a glimpse of the good man he could be, he had since vanished into insanity. He didn't hurt Elise or Lucian. Instead they found him that day carving wounds into his arms, and when he saw them, he only laughed. A laugh that reminded the four friends of the man they had met at first, the man who felt nothing when hurting others.

"He's mad," Godric said. "Completely mad. Yet at the same time, he's not. How can he be so different, depending on the hour?"

By the time Elise had finished wrapping up his injured arms, the Nightmare Lord was howling at the wall, clawing at his head, and begging someone to just tear his heart out.

"It won't help," Lucian tried.

"It'll distract me!" the lord yelled at him. "It's going to open if I'm not distracted!"

"What will open?" Rowena asked.

He visibly pulled himself together somewhat, even if his fingers kept twitching. He pulled at the bandages; Lucian dared to slap his hands away. The lord thrummed on top of his thighs, humming, glancing around wildly. Then he flung himself from the chair and raced around the castle. He was up a wall, then down a hallway, then at the moving stairs, then curling up in the darkness of the underground levels. When Salazar found him in one of the rooms, the lord said:

"Will there be potions taught?"

"Yes. I believe it will."

"Oh… this is a good room for it," the lord said. "I remember it."

"What?"

"Nothing," he said and sat up. "Nothing at all."

"As you wish, lord," Salazar said, not wanting to upset him. "Potions room, huh? Yes, I can see why; it's good ventilation despite it being underground. The fumes would rise upwards, not gather."

"Right?" the lord said. "The desk up there, something to write on… you'll need a storage room."

"Over there," Salazar said, pointing at the far end of the room to the left.

"Oh yes, there's _perfect_."

"Are you feeling better, lord?"

The Nightmare Lord scratched at the bandages, but didn't try to do anything more. He was twitching gently where he stood.

"It's opening," he said.

"What is opening?" Salazar asked.

"The… the _part _of my head."

"Your head?"

"Things I made myself forget, they're… _coming_."

Why did he sound so frightened of it? When Salazar mentioned this, Rowena said:

"He said something similar not too long ago. He seems to have locked away memories from when he was younger. He said they hurt him, so he didn't want to remember."

"But if they torment him so now…" Godric said. "Wouldn't it be better to remember, and then deal with it?"

Helga nodded. Salazar was a bit more hesitant but the other three charged on. The Nightmare Lord had been persuaded outside, where he now stood looking up at the castle walls. The bandages were gone, the wounds dark against his pale skin. His clear, green eyes sought them out as they came wandering closer, and he bared his teeth. But he didn't flee.

"Lord, your memories pain you," Helga said. "Don't they?"

"Torment is my usual mood," he said and then laughed, before hitting himself on the leg. He stopped laughing and looked everywhere but them. "Yes, they hurt."

"Is it because you hold them back?"

"It hurts, so I keep it away," he told her. "They are hurting me, so I locked them away."

"But it hurts to keep them away, don't they?"

"I don't know! I hate them. I hate everything!"

The magic tore up, and was then pushed down. He gripped his hair and moved away from them. Never before had he looked so small in their eyes, so small and frightened.

Helga began to move forward when blood started to drip of the lord's nose. He himself seemed surprised with it. He coughed, and blood came out of his mouth. Then he screamed. He screamed and held onto his head and began trashing around. He stumbled backwards, away from the castle, his Dementors unable to get near him.

Now the magic roared, became light and dark and they had never seen a power display like that. The magic was wild, like its master. The lord screamed and howled and more blood was falling.

Then with a crack, he disappeared.

"Where did he go?" Helga called out to Lucian and Elise.

"He must have gone home," Elise said.

"Take us there!"

Elise grabbed onto Godric and Rowena, and Lucian took Salazar's and Helga's arms. Then they experienced the strangest way of travelling yet. It felt tight, yet they saw how they travelled a great distance. Their entire body was squeezed, compressed and then put back.

What they stood in front of was not a mere house. It was something far greater. Towers ascending towards the sky, stones dark with age, doors torn off their hinges. Lucian and Elise were already running. Helga followed and was the first of the four friends to enter the Nightmare Lord's home.

She had never before seen a home like his. The walls were covered in wood and fabrics. There were no paintings. Instead there were shelves here and there. On one there were jars, filled with things she'd rather not think about.

Instead she, and now the other three, heard crashing sounds and found their way into what seemed to be a living area. It had places to sit, and the lord was tearing through the room, screaming and bleeding. He sobbed as he clutched at his head. Elise tried to get close only to be thrown up against the wall, her arm breaking. Lucian withdrew and Rowena rushed over to help Elise.

The lord fell to the ground, shaking and clawing at his arms.

"Make it stop, make it stop, make him go away!"

The magic felt hot against their faces. Elise pushed them back as the magic took shape, became a man. They saw no face on the person, and they didn't understand him but from the way the lord shrank back and screamed even wilder, it wasn't a person he wanted to see.

The man was widely built and his face became clear. His small, beady eyes locked onto the Nightmare Lord. He began to yell, shaking his meaty fists and the lord kept twitching. As the man continued to scream and scream, the mouth turned into blackness, and his eyes turned large and glowing red. Somehow Helga understood this was Uncle, this was the demon in the lord's dreams, a man turned into a monster perhaps by the years and abuse that never healed. A family member who had done nothing good to or for the lord.

The man vanished, was replaced by a woman, by Aunt, her face emaciated but her screaming just as loud and the Nightmare Lord tore through her with magic before falling back, panting hard. Blood was still coming out of his nose.

"I hate them, I hate them I hate them I hate them…" he mumbled. "Muggles, all of them, they're the same… just the same as Aunt and Uncle…"

"He hunted Muggles purely because of that?" Rowena said. "What in the name of Merlin did those two do to him?"

"Perhaps his mind made them worse than what they were," Godric said. "If he doesn't remember what they truly were, they could have become anything in his head."

"He needs to remember," Rowena said.

"When it pains master this much?" Lucian said. "Are you mad?"

"He's the one who's gone mad because of this! Don't you want him to remember?"

"Not when it hurts him!"

The Nightmare Lord dragged himself up, coughing and gagging, tearing down vases and books as he dragged himself away from them.

"Lord," Rowena said. "Lord, you need to remember. Don't you get tired of this, not knowing?"

"It hurts to know!" he yelled at her. "It pains… oh, it hurts… I made myself forget! I know that much, I know I had to forget or I'd go… I'd go mad, knowing… knowing what?"

He wailed as new pain seemed to attack him. He tore at a chest and the contents spilled out. A strange cloak, shimmering and disappearing, then wands; three of them. Finally, a stone. Its blackness was enchanting, and it spun around on the floor.

"You still need to remember, because not remembering has driven you mad!" Rowena urged.

"No, I can't… I can't remember! I need to close it, the lock, lock them all away again!"

The stone shone on the floor. They had never seen anything like it again. The wands moved as well, reacting to his magic. The lord owned three wands? Had he won them? They hadn't known him that long, but they had never seen him with a wand.

"Remembering shouldn't hurt!" Rowena said.

"Sometimes you need to remember," Godric said. "Locking it all up doesn't seem to have done you much good."

This time the magic tore through some of the fabrics by the windows, ripping them in half, and when the Nightmare Lord looked at them the blood was coming from his eyes as well. He slammed his head against the floor, crying, beating his fists bloody and raw.

From the stone, there came a small light. Somehow the lord saw it and he grabbed the stone. As he held it, the despair vanished from his face, and he stared down at the stone. A string of saliva mixed with blood fell from his mouth. He slowly dragged himself to a sitting position.

"Lord?" Helga ventured, taking a step closer despite Elise's soft noise of warning.

"So familiar… forest, death… why did I return…?"

His hand closed tighter over the stone and he looked at them.

"Why do you want me to remember?" he asked, blood forming tears on his face.

The Nightmare Lord, so proud and neat the first time they saw him, was a mess. Bloody and beaten, he sat limply on the floor, hand closed over a stone they had no idea was anything else but a mere stone.

"Because it hurts you not to," Salazar said. "We care. Lucian and Elise care. They, nor us, want to see you in this great pain anymore."

"Why? I am a monster. I have killed so many people. I don't regret it. Killing a child means nothing to me. I laugh in their parents' faces."

"Lord, please," Helga said. "You haven't done that in a while. You are… becoming something else."

"I don't want to be something else! I'm me!"

"Are you really? If you don't remember your past, who you used to be…" Rowena said. "How can you know you're yourself?"

He stared at her. Then they heard a click, like a lock turning. For a moment the lord was still. Then his eyes widened and he screamed, falling back and trashing around. Blood flowed anew and the only thing he seemed to hold onto was that small stone. He slammed his head again.

"Someone stop him from doing that!" Salazar said. "He'll break his skull!"

But try as they might, the magic wouldn't let them come close. Eventually he stopped and the stone fell from his slackened grip. The lord was bloody but his eyes remained open. As he looked at them, his eyes slid somewhere behind them and they saw his body relax. Before they could walk up to him and see he was alright, the lord said:

"George…?"

They turned around and there was a ghost standing in the entrance to the room. Despite him behind transparent, they could see the vibrant red hair, the colours of his robe. The ghost was of a young man with a missing ear, and he smiled to the Nightmare Lord.

"Thought you'd never remember me," he said. "It's been a while, friend."

His words were odd. They understood him, more or less, but he spoke differently from them.

"George," the lord said, "it hurts… it hurts so much."

"I know."

The ghost moved past them and kneeled down by the lord's side, not able to touch yet unable to stay away.

"Breathe now, mate. Breathe, that's it… just focus on breathing for me, alright?"

The general meaning got across, but the lord seemed to have switched to the same strangeness as the ghost. It was a version of English the four friends had never come across before.

"George," the lord said. "You didn't have to die… everything went wrong, back then… you didn't have to die for me."

"I know that too. It doesn't mean I wouldn't do it again. My body moved on my own. You are worth saving."

"But I _can't_… not even back then, I couldn't…"

The lord was shuddering, fighting to breathe and George said:

"Come on now, don't… I can't help you here… where are the Dementors?"

As if on command, the creatures began filtering in. A few of them screeched softly when they spotted George, petting the air around him, greeting him like they sometimes greeted the Nightmare Lord.

"Who is that ghost?" Godric asked Elise.

"I have never seen him before," Elise told him.

"Hey, come on, help him sit up…"

The Dementors were gentle. They stroke away the blood from the lord's face, hugged him to their chests and acted even closer to him than before. The Nightmare Lord relaxed in their embrace and looked at George. It was as if those who had forgotten everyone else.

"You're see-through," the lord said and laughed a bit. He looked more sad than happy though.

"What a greeting. Thanks, you great, big prat."

"I bet I can stick my hand through your head."

"I bet I can do the same," George replied.

"Yeah… you can."

The lord reached out a hand, but not enough so that it would actually go through George.

"Who is he, lord?" Salazar eventually said.

Both the lord and George turned to look at them.

"He's my friend," the lord said, eyes sliding back to George. "He died for me. I realized something and I… I couldn't live with myself remembering how he didn't need to die. How his death was unnecessary."

"I still would've done it," George said. "I've said it so many times… I'd do anything for you."

The lord bent forward, freeing himself from the Dementors. He shuddered, and they saw the tears fall down to the floor. George's hand hovered near his shoulder.

"But I'm sorry I'm not here, for real," he continued. "I wanted to take care of you. You and me, mate, in that house… if only they hadn't thought what they did."

The lord just kept on crying, eventually laying himself down on the floor. They couldn't see his face, but George turned to them.

"Um…" Godric began.

"I know who you are," George said. "Just because he didn't call on me, didn't mean I didn't watch over him. I did. Every day. He made himself forget but I never stopped watching over him."

"Who were you to him?" Rowena asked. "Just a friend?"

"Not just _a_ friend, I suppose. More like a brother. I know I saw him as my brother. He's all grown up now though."

"You died for him," Helga said. "Why?"

"Because I'll always die for him. If I'm ever born again, I'll live and die for him. Because that's how much I want him to live."

"Some consider him a monster," Salazar said.

"I don't care," George said. "Can you leave? I want to spend some time alone with him. Oi, one of you… yeah, whoever… get him a blanket."

One of the Dementors retrieved one and spread it over the lord, who refused to look at them. George didn't turn back to them again, and Elise and Lucian left the room as well. One of the Dementors closed the doors.

"Was it a good thing, what we did?" Salazar wondered.

"I have no idea," Helga confessed. "It sounded good, but now… Elise, your arm?"

"It's fine."

"We'll… go. Let him recover for a while. Come to the castle when he wants to see us again. Or rather, come as often as you'd like."

Elise and Lucian nodded.

"We can bring you back to the castle," Elise said.

"That might be a good idea."

They left the lord and the ghost behind.

-o-

The lord was watching George and had been doing that for the past fifteen minutes. One of his hands lay near George's knee, not quite touching. It had been so long, so, so long since he had seen George's face. Since he remembered George and knew his name. The mysterious redhead that calmed him down in some dreams, made him want to die in others. George, who didn't have to die for the Nightmare lord, because he was an immortal man even back then.

"I wish there was a future where you didn't die," he said eventually. "Not you… not Fred, and not in those ways."

"Lots of big wishes, I hear."

"Wishing is alright, isn't it? To think, I could still wish for such things."

"You're different."

"Do you hate it?" the lord wondered. "Do you hate what I've become?"

"No," George admitted. "You're you. No matter what you do, I will still be on your side. Hey, call on Fred too. I bet he's really pissed off you only called on me, since he's been waiting as long as me to talk to you."

"Really?"

"Yeah! When you stopped calling on us, we freaked out. It took us a while to realize you made yourself forget us, and everything. But you still kept our ashes safe."

"I did…" the lord fumbled for the stone and then held it tightly. "It was important, I knew that much. Sometimes I got angry. I knew it was important, but I didn't remember why."

A shape took form, and Fred dropped down in front of the lord.

"Hey, why did you only call on George? No fair!"

"Sorry… I just remembered… I couldn't think about anything else."

"Told you, he loves me more," George said.

"No, he doesn't!" Fred protested. "By the way, mate, you look like shit."

"I'm pretty," the Nightmare Lord said, "so shut it."

Their laughs were better than any healing spell. The warmth, the familiarity… so many things had changed, yet the twins were still themselves. He wanted to touch them. He wanted to touch them so badly. Instead he tightened his hand and looked at them argue.

He didn't even notice passing out.

-o-

The door opened and both Elise and Lucian leapt up, having returned after helping the four friends back to Hogwarts. The ghost peeked outside and saw them.

"Just help him to bed, alright?" the ghost said. "He kind of passed out on us."

"Us?"

Elise came in first and saw another ghost near her master, his hand hovering as if he wanted to touch but knowing he couldn't. It was more painful than she could have imagine, seeing that.

"It's us, by the way."

"What?" she said.

"In the container he hoards," the ghost next to her said. It was the one from before, the one with a missing ear. "The ashes, it's us. What's left of us anyway."

"It's your ashes?"

"Yeah. He wanted to keep us with him no matter what."

Her master had never looked as tired as he did not, curled up on the floor. But he was breathing deeply, and easy. He seemed so sad, yet so content.

"He remembers now. Don't expect him to speak about it, but… I think you'll see a great change in behaviour in him."

The two ghosts, they looked like brothers, soon vanished and Elise and Lucian were careful to not wake their master up while getting him to bed. Lucian took the container with ashes and placed it right next to the bed, along with the small, black stone he had found near their master. Elise tucked the Nightmare Lord in and couldn't help but stroke away some of his hair from his face.

"Should we clean up?" Lucian wondered.

"No."

She had seen more things she'd never seen before. Things she wasn't sure what to do with, and those things would stay exactly where their master had left them until he decided where to put them himself. They'd clean up the blood at the most.

"Should we stay?" he asked.

"In here?" Elise wondered.

"He was in so much pain before…"

"I think we can stay."

_I think you'll see a great change in behaviour in him. _What did the ghost mean by that? Would their master act strange? He also said master remembered. What, the past? His whole past, even the parts he said he had locked away? Elise wasn't sure what to do.

So instead they settled down next to the bed, on chairs, and watched their master sleep the first, calm sleep in many years.

To be continued…

* * *

He remembers!

Chapter twenty-two: The four friends gets to know the Nightmare Lord who remembers his past. But more importantly, what the hell did he just call that dead corpse?

Until later,

Tiro


	22. Chapter 22

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

I don't know if it was during last chapter's reviews I stumbled upon someone who wasn't too pleased with this seemingly turning into a redemption story. Redemption? No, dear reviewer, it's not. The Nightmare Lord may have remembered his past, but it doesn't mean he's all about kindness and smelling roses now.

Enjoy!

_Gore and violence is described here._

-o-

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

It was hard to figure out how long time to give the Nightmare Lord. They had never seen him in so much pain, and then so calm. Rowena even fretted over if it had been a good decision, helping him remember.

"We basically forced him to do it," she said at first, the day after. "We gave him no choice."

"On a level perhaps he wished to remember," Godric tried with.

"It doesn't matter, we didn't ask him! I didn't ask him! Instead I kept insisting on making sure he would remember. What good did it do? He bled from his eyes, for Merlin's sake!"

"But he calmed when he saw the ghost. He seemed… human, almost."

"And he wasn't human before?" Rowena asked.

"He lacked things that made him human," Salazar said. "He didn't know things that made him human. It was like he had shut himself off to those parts of himself. So while it hurt him to remember, it could be a good thing in the end."

"I hope you're right," she said, "because I don't want to go back there and realize we've damaged him further."

Elise and Lucian had given them permission to return to the Nightmare Lord's manor, leaving behind a necklace and saying that it was a Portkey. Seeing as they had no idea what a Portkey was, Elise had told them to all hold onto it before saying the word "blood-tree". They had no idea what she meant with that either, but the necklace now lay on the table they sat around.

"We'll give him time," Helga said. "Some time. While he gets to get back his bearings, we'll continue to work. I want to have students here, have them learn… this castle feels so empty without students in it."

"You're right," Godric said. "Let's do our best, and hope the lord is well."

They tried to keep on building Hogwarts but found their thoughts scattered. Helga had actually enjoyed the lord's odd moments of advice what to do, and put her foot down when autumn had swung over to early winter, and snow had started to cover the ground. It felt like a long time had passed since they last saw the Nightmare Lord. Elise and Lucian had not been by, although they had received a few notes that let the four friends know they were all well.

"We're going to see the lord," Helga said. "And we're not building more without his input."

"I agree," Godric said. "I was about to bloody suggest it myself. I can't believe it, that I would suggest it!"

"At first I thought his presence intimidating," Rowena said, "and now I keep looking around to see where he's supposed to pop up. He was so good at just showing up."

Salazar went to get the necklace and they gathered in what would be the Great Hall, the lord's name for the large room, to travel. They all took a hold of the necklace, and glanced at each other. In the end, Salazar took the lead:

"Blood-tree."

It had an immediate effect. It was like being tugged forward, and then moved within an instant. They all fell in a heap in front of the Nightmare Lord's manor, and Salazar coughed.

"Well, that's one way to travel," he said.

"That was brilliant," Rowena said and took a hold of the necklace. "I need to know how to make this!"

She got up and walked over to the double doors to the manor, but as they all approached it opened. Elise greeted them with a smile, and it was so blindingly different they all stopped. She looked, for the lack of a better word, _happy_.

"You're here," she said. "Wait, I have to show you someone!"

_Someone?_

Elise dragged a woman over and said:

"Everyone, this is Ywgraine. I saw her in a village some time ago, and when I asked her if she wanted to come with me, she agreed. Master made her a servant, so she could always be here with me. She's a friend."

A friend. The woman didn't look frightened; the only thing that seemed out of place was that same, silvery flash in her eyes, just like Elise and Lucian.

"Are they the friends you told me about?" Ywgraine said. "Those who didn't fear master?"

"Exactly," Elise said. "I think they are here to see master."

"And you as well," Helga said. "How are things here?"

Elise only smiled, and beckoned them inside. The place didn't seem to have changed much but there was something in the air that was different. As they walked further inside, they noticed a door open to their left, and to their surprise it was filled with wands.

"Is that…?" Salazar began.

"Master has always liked collecting wands," Elise said. "He let me pick one from them, as well as Lucian and Ywgraine."

Wands from the people he had killed over the years? They had no idea. None of them were even sure they minded anymore. After all, they'd been in the Nightmare Lord's company for some time now, and accepted him despite all the people he had killed, and how he felt about people. Shuffling steps had them look further into the hall, and Godric had his wand in his hand a moment later, followed by Salazar.

There was a woman at the bottom of the stairs. She was filthy, the hair matted and flat, her skin pale underneath the dirt. But her eyes were milky, _dead eyes_, and she was chewing on a piece of meat, holding more meat in her free hand. She growled at them, and they realized they were looking at a walking corpse. She began to walk towards them when a crash upstairs stopped her in her tracks.

The Nightmare Lord came stumbling down the stairs, pulling cobwebs from his face whilst spluttering and gagging. He almost fell, grabbed onto the railing and came to a stop halfway down. He coughed and looked at them.

"Oh," he said. "Hello, you lot. It's been a while."

"Lord…" Helga began. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, yes, perfectly fine. Elise, the second room to the left?"

"Yes?"

"Don't enter it. Unless you want to… no, let's not open it. Hello there."

The corpse staggered up the stairs and caught the lord around the middle.

"What's he doing?" Salazar said. "Oh dear Merlin, he's petting the corpse."

"The moving corpse," Helga supplied.

"How did he make the corpse walk like that?" Rowena wondered.

"Inferius," Elise said. "Master calls them Inferius, or Inferi in plural."

"The corpses?" Rowena asked.

"He makes them come back to life… to a sort of life," she explained. "He said it was their name. That's the Inferius leader. She's very fond of eyes."

"Her own?" Godric ventured.

"Others. She likes to rip them out whole."

The Inferius leader was offering the lord something.

"Is that an _ear_?" Rowena said.

"Thank you dear, but I don't really want it," the lord said. "What happened to the heart? I like hearts, they look funny."

"Master, you're not eating a heart," Lucian said as he appeared on the top of the stairs, walking down to meet the lord.

"I never said I would eat it. Besides, I've tried it before and found it too chewy. All those muscles and that, and the blood made it a mess."

"Are you admitting to having tried to consume a human heart?" Lucian moaned.

"I didn't actually eat it."

"But you _tried_."

"I was hungry and there was nothing else around," he said, like it made everything better.

"You could have conjured something," Rowena pointed out.

"Too little magic," he said, "and not enough sense in the head _not _to try it. Alright, that's enough… _hugging_, you. Off."

The moving corpse, they still had a bit of a hard time realizing it was a walking corpse, released the Nightmare Lord and gave the ear to Lucian. He took it between his fingers, raised an eyebrow and turned to the lord.

"Throw it away when she's not looking," the lord whispered to him. "Then act pleased and satisfied."

"Or else, master?"

"Or she'll pout. I didn't think a corpse was capable of that, but apparently I was wrong."

"You made her!"

"I made her move. She's learnt to do other things on her own. Like pout. Or growl. She's good at growling. And ripping eyes out."

He continued down the stairs and Lucian discreetly disposed of the ear.

"You're doing better, then," Rowena said.

"Oh, depends how you look at it," the lord said. "I haven't threatened to rip out anyone's tongue, if that makes me into a… _better _person, ugh, I hate saying that."

"Why?"

"Because those who called themselves better people when I was young… well, let's just say they decided what was better or not. To them, better meant throwing me into a prison when I had done nothing wrong."

"Prison? What for?"

"Saving their pathetic lives," he said. "They were very good with twisty words. I was not impressed. So when I got out I killed them all… well, almost all of them, I might have missed one or two in the end."

"But you're… you're not killing people now, are you?" Rowena wondered.

"Oh, Rowena. I might have remembered who I was, but don't make it sound like it made me into a saint." He smiled at her, not unkind. "I am never going to be a saint and if people irritate me and I don't like them, I will kill them."

"But he hasn't done any threats to us," Lucian said. "Master does realize that's unkind."

"I've always known it to a degree, I just continued anyway because I'm a mean bastard," the lord said.

He led the way to the living area and sat down by the windows. Salazar had a look around and said:

"Are there more books in here than last time?"

"Yes, there is. I like books. They don't talk back. Most of them anyway. A few might bite, but that just makes it funnier."

"How are you doing, really?" Rowena asked as she sat down.

"I'm fine," he said.

"What was it that you tried to forget?"

"I travelled to a place where I couldn't return from, and I had lost a dear friend. My mind took matters into its own hands and made sure I'd forget."

"Why?"

"Because it would hurt less," he told her and looked at her now. "You see, I was… I had emotions. Have them. Joy, happiness… all that _stuff_. Only I didn't have much of the happiness left. I was, no, I _realized_ something which made me very sad, and so I decided not to remember anything at all."

"But you remember it now."

"Yes. I can deal with it now. More or less, anyway."

He took out a small, black stone from his pocket. The stone he had held when the ghost appeared. He held it up to the light and said:

"Doesn't mean I don't want to go back in time and change things."

"Stop yourself from killing people?" Godric wondered.

"No, I don't care about that part. I'm a monster that I have accepted. No, I want to go back and prevent someone's death, because deep inside I still _yearn _for that… to save people. What a ridiculous notion."

"It's not ridiculous," Rowena said.

"It is," he told her. "I was manipulated into thinking that way. To sacrifice myself for other people's happiness. What did it get me? It got me thrown into prison and thought a monster. Well, since they believed that, I became a monster. That's what they wanted apparently. Or what they thought. Perhaps what they wanted to believe, to brush off any guilt."

"Lord, are you saying you weren't like this always?"

"That's right. Once upon a time I would have been _appalled _at people like me," he said and laughed. "Oh, dear, what a fool the young me was."

They looked at each other. He was much the same as before, but different in many ways. He felt no guilt for his past, for all the people whose lives he had cut short. No regret. Yet something in his eyes…

"Do you know now you've always felt love for certain things?" Rowena asked.

"Yes. It's strange, how I managed to ignore it. I love my children. To others, they are the most horrible things created. But I love them all the same. I remembered… I remembered times when I wanted Elise to talk, to have her near me but at the same time that made me so angry. That I wanted her to… to be normal towards me."

He rose up and wandered around the room, stone still in his hand.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked and held the stone up.

"No," Salazar replied for them all.

"It's not just a stone. If you hold it, and wish for it, a loved one shall return." The Nightmare Lord held it up. "Or, well, whoever I think of will return."

"People can't return from the dead," Rowena said.

"I never said they came back from the dead, Rowena. It's a twist of words. They returnbut I never said as what. I never said they'd _stay_."

He clenched his hand around the stone and continued:

"I've been making people appear ever so often, just to… remember them. Even if I didn't like them."

The shape of a man became clearer behind the Nightmare Lord, and both Helga and Rowena gasped when they saw the blood on the transparent figure. The dark eyes watched them impassively, and then he bared yellow teeth and began to walk around the room.

"It's an old professor of mine," the Nightmare Lord said. "He hated me. It was rather refreshing actually. Never told him that though; he would have been mortified to know his hatred was in any way pleasing to me."

"What did he teach you?" Helga wondered as the man walked around them, a silent ghost of the past.

"Potions. I was never any good at it though. He certainly didn't help," the lord said.

"You were hopeless at it," the ghost told him, the same sort of strange English they had heard the ghost George speak.

"As bad as Neville?" the lord wondered.

"Merlin, no, you'd have to try to be as bad as Longbottom."

"I killed Neville," the lord said. "He was my friend. I guess someone like me doesn't deserve friends."

"Don't pity yourself, Potter, it's unbecoming."

"I've told you to stop saying _that _name," the lord hissed. "I'm not him anymore. The boy you taught potions to is dead."

The ghost stopped. He began to fade, his eyes on the Nightmare Lord.

"Well… at least you live, even if you insist on not using that name anymore," the ghost said. "That's what I wanted. Lily's child… with her eyes…"

"My mother would have cut me from her own womb had she known what I would become one day, and you know it."

The four founders stared at the two. The ghost chuckled and said:

"Then it's a good thing she died when she did. Please stop pitying yourself, or kill yourself. Those Weasley boys won't shut up about it."

"I might just continue if it makes them annoy you, professor Snape."

They didn't hear the ghost's answer as he vanished, and the lord looked at them.

"Pardon me; I just can't help wanting to talk with that git. He hates me, yet wants me to live. Such a complicated man."

"Have you tried to kill yourself?" Rowena whispered.

"Lately? Not on purpose. In the past? Plenty of times. Death doesn't stick to me."

"People aren't immortal. It just isn't done," Rowena said.

"What, you read that in a book and believed it?"

"Well…"

"You did, didn't you?" he said. "It's alright, it's just you sounded like an old friend of mine. She was so adamant that the books were right, and people were lying."

"Did you kill her in the end too?" Rowena wondered.

"Yes, I did. I killed her children first."

"Why?"

"Because it would hurt her more. To be honest, the only friend I didn't kill was the one who was killed by someone else. The one friend I didn't want to be killed."

He put the stone away.

"So I remember, but I'm not a better person," he told them. "Are you disappointed?"

"Honestly?" Godric said. "No. As long as you're alright, I don't care."

"We'd like your help with the castle," Salazar said. "We tried, but we kept losing focus all the time."

"Why?"

"You weren't there to tell us what to do," Rowena said.

"You did fine on your own," the lord said.

"We liked your input. Or perhaps your sarcasm. Or just your grumpiness."

"That's a first. People don't generally want me near them."

"I guess we aren't like other people," Rowena said. "Will you come back?"

"I don't mind, as long as you don't."

-o-

There was a thing that had been nagging on Rowena though. Not the necklace; the lord had showed her how to make a Portkey quite happily, and suggested they made sure it couldn't be used within the school's wards. No, it was something else and she decided to ask it during their meal some weeks after his return to the castle.

"That professor called you something."

"Yes, he did," the Nightmare Lord said.

"Was it your name?"

"Not anymore."

"You won't use it?"

"As I told him, that boy is dead. I emerged from the ashes the boy left behind."

"With no name?"

"With no name," the lord confirmed. "Monsters don't generally have names."

"That's a sad way of thinking," Salazar told him.

"It's my way of thinking. Besides, I didn't want that name. In a way, I never wanted it. This way, I'll just be a nightmare, people's horrors and fears. I'm very good at that."

"Did you wish to be like this when you were young?"

"When I was young, Salazar, the only thing I wished for was to survive until adulthood. I didn't have many demands besides that one. I was never taught to wish or want anything. That was for others; I was just supposed to be quiet and invisible."

"Who told you that?" Rowena wondered.

"My aunt and uncle," the lord said. "You saw them. The demonized versions of them, anyway. They did nothing but cause pain. Family isn't always the best thing that could happen. Sometimes they're the worst."

"So in the end you didn't have anyone?"

"In my childhood? Not really. I thought I had, when I got older but turns out I didn't. A friend's mother tried to kill me, so I killed her in return."

It was strange to hear him speak so casually of a past that had pained him so much before.

"You can handle all the pain from your past now, is that what you meant before?" Salazar wondered. "I mean, when we came back to your manor."

"I can handle anything from the past," the Nightmare Lord replied, "although it still hurts. Some parts still hurt. Others, not a lot. Anyway, it's boring to talk about pasts and things like that. I want to know when the castle will be ready for students."

-o-

Hogwarts began to take on its shape, and the four friends were to be the four founders of the school. They had asked the Nightmare Lord if he wished to be the fifth.

"God, no, not officially. You'll never get any students if the parents find out I'm part of it," he told them.

"People think differently of you."

"They think of me as if I don't exist, Rowena, or they treat me like a plague," he said. "Either way, it's better if I'm in the shadows. I like being in shadows, even if it's just metaphorically."

"Why?"

"Because it makes people all the more surprised and horrified when they learn I'm actually not just a figment of someone's imagination."

"Do you mean you've made yourself sink into shadows only to scare people again?" Salazar asked.

"I've got to get my fun from somewhere, and eventually one does get tired of digging through bowels."

"Can you please not mention that at the table?" Godric begged.

"Oh… pardon me."

"That's not so bad," Elise said. "I mean, the thing master just said. He's done a lot worse than that."

"Yes, let's not talk about it," Godric added. "I'm already remembering the time he said he bit a human heart."

"I was hungry."

"You tried to bite a fish once," Lucian said. "It was alive."

"Yes, and that's why I don't eat fish anymore."

"I told you I could've cooked it."

"Slimy and slippery, no, no fish. Never."

"He doesn't like soggy vegetables either," Elise added.

"That's because it was the only food my relatives served me," the lord told her. "_Cold_, soggy vegetables."

"Don't serve him that," Elise whispered to the four friends. "Last time I accidently did that, he hurled the plate at me."

"Well, you dodged it in time," the lord said. "Wished it could've been my aunt. Her stuck-up face, treating me like I was a blight on her shiny life. No, her life was dull, _so _dull and boring and _predictable_. She was proud of being _normal_."

"She was proud of being a Muggle," Rowena said. "Because they weren't magical, your aunt and uncle."

"No, they weren't. My uncle insisted on beating the magic out of me. It didn't work."

They didn't know what to say to that, seeing as the Nightmare Lord hardly looked upset over the fact his own blood-relative hit him purely because he was a wizard.

"Now, are you teaching things yourselves or will there be others?" the lord wondered.

"At first, us I believe," Helga said. "We thought of having houses too. To look after the students better."

"Houses?" he repeated.

"One for each of us. Separated dorms and common rooms," Rowena said. "Salazar already took the one in the dungeons."

"I've worked on it myself," Salazar said with a shrug. "Plus it doesn't look that dreary, Rowena. The children won't mind."

"I know, I just… there are no windows, Salazar."

"So place some enchanted windows there," the lord said. "Those that reflect the weather outside."

"You can do that?" Salazar asked.

The lord looked at them.

"I thought everyone could do that," he replied.

"Well, we'll certainly teach others that if you teach us," Godric said. "But really, you can make windows appear in a dungeon?"

"Of course. I mean, I didn't learn it as a child, but it's fairly easy for me to do nowadays."

"Master, everything's easy for you," Elise said, looking up from the book she had been reading for the last hour or so.

"Not everything. Just most things."

"Do you ever use a wand?" Salazar asked later, when he had led the Nightmare Lord down to what would become the Slytherin common room.

"Not really. I find it restricting."

"Channelling your magic through your wand?"

"Yes, and being dependent on it. I stopped using it a long time ago."

"It sounds like you still have it."

"Well, it's my wand so of course I still have it." The lord looked around the room. "Not sure how good it works with me now. I never learnt about wands and their cores."

"Did you kill your friends with your wand?" Salazar wondered.

"Oh… yes, I did."

"So even when you acted the way you do now, it worked with you?"

"Now that you mention it, yes."

"Then there should be no problems. Now, how do we create these enchanted windows of yours?"

_To be continued…_

* * *

They're getting there!

Chapter twenty-three: Hogwarts open its gates for students for the first time. The students notice a strange man coming and going as he wants.

Until later,

Tiro


	23. Chapter 23

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Why am I so late? Argh, fanfiction block! I hit rock bottom with fanfiction although I don't know why, I love writing it… anyway, here it is, _late_. Pardon me.

By the way, the warning just under here? It's habit to leave it, because we know our Nightmare Lord; he just can't keep himself away from gore and/or violence.

Now, read and enjoy!

_Gore and violence is described here._

-o-

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

When Hogwarts opened in late summer, the first thing the students noticed was that the castle sometimes seemed alive ("the stairs keep moving!"), Rowena Ravenclaw allowed no food or drinks whatsoever near books, Godric and Salazar could be seen duelling in the hallways and there was a strange man coming and going.

The castle was now filled with over a hundred students, ranging from eleven years old to almost seventeen. Some knew magic very well, and some hardly knew a single spell, or how to brew the simplest of potions. The four friends were so far the only professors and were kept busy with teaching, each of them teaching more than one subject.

Before the first snow fell however, there was a new woman in Rowena's public library. She cheerfully introduced herself as Ywgraine and added:

"I really like books and if I ever get a book that has been damaged by one of you, I'll skin you alive and string you up by your thumbs in the dungeons. Got it?"

"As if the professors will allow it," one student replied.

"You're rather snooty, aren't you?" she said. "By the way, here's the parchment that says I can."

He paled a lot when he saw all four founders' signatures that _yes, _Ywgraine was allowed to hang the students up by their thumbs in the dungeons, and if she skinned them alive before-hand they probably deserved it.

And then, for some reason, she looked at the parchment and said:

"I think master is a bit of a bad influence on them. But then again, he wouldn't just skin you. He'd make sure you get tortured for a lot longer than that."

After that, the students made sure to never hurt a book, but Ywgraine also became a rather popular face because she wasn't a real professor, and she joked a lot. As the students had come to Hogwarts, they were all sorted into Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff or Gryffindor depending on their qualities that apparently a hat decided.

"One of Godric's finer moments," was what Salazar said.

"Better than your idea of blood sacrifice," Godric pointed out.

"Alright, maybe that was a bit much."

The students, even those in Slytherin, were glad that some of Salazar's suggestions weren't really taken seriously by the other three because honestly? The blood sacrifice thing was one of the milder things he came up with.

However, the strange man. This was sometimes the students loved to discuss, especially since their introduction to him was at supper shortly after the beginning of the school and he hadn't just walked into the hall. No, he had skidded down the stairs, nearly fallen over a tiny Hufflepuff girl and then made a straight run for Godric who shrieked and fled the hall.

No one offered an explanation, although Rowena and Helga had a hard time containing their laughter and all Salazar said was:

"I told him not to do it. One does not to it against the lord, and does Godric listen? No, it'd kill him to listen. Literally."

The strange man, named the lord when no other name was given, appeared a few days later, this time talking normally with Godric as if they had never had an argument. Then he made both Rowena and Salazar blush and stutter, and laughed a sort of laugh that could've been kind if it wasn't for that background tone that said, _nope, not kind at all_. But he wasn't mean to the four founders.

Maybe he just had a cruel laughter. Or he was mad and for some reason, the four founders either didn't see it, or didn't care.

Some of the students, notably those from Godric's house, didn't take too kindly though to the lord chasing their professor and when they found him wandering the halls alone one day they pounced.

Well, tried to pounce anyway. He turned to them before they were even halfway there.

"Ah, Godric's house isn't it?" he said. "Why he chose to mix red and gold is beyond me…"

"You think you can just do that, don't you?"

"Do what?"

"Chase professor Gryffindor."

"Yes, I can, if he deserves it. Believe me, he did."

"He's a professor and you're just a nobody!"

"Oh, is that what you think?"

"You don't belong here!"

One of them drew a wand but then the wand wasn't in their hand. It was in the lord's hand. He twirled it around and said:

"Don't test my patience, boy. You don't know who you're up against."

"You can't just take my wand!"

"I just did, you idiot." He threw the wand back. "Be grateful. It usually goes like this; I pry the wand from my opponent's cold, _dead _hands. But try any funny tricks, and I will kill you all."

"They won't allow that…" one stammered out.

"They will allow it," the lord said and stepped closer.

All of a sudden the castle groaned and the shadows grew deeper. The magic became denser, and the lord smiled. There was nothing kind about that smile.

"You see, they can't stop me anyway. I do try to be… _nicer _on occasion, but I've been a bad man for a lot longer so it's easier to fall back into that."

"Lord?"

Rowena's voice rang out and the shadows became normal, and the magic dissipated.

"Yes, dear?" he said.

"I thought… I mean, the magic… shifted. Did something happen?"

"Just warning some students. They apparently think I'm a nobody."

Her gaze settled on them, and they gulped. Professor Ravenclaw was really strict. She had all these rules they all had to abide to, and she didn't allow anyone's parent to interfere with their education. She didn't even listen to most parents when they demanded better rooms or better food for their child, saying:

"_They'll learn to live with it, or they can go home."_

She didn't look much kinder here.

"Threatening people you don't know based on no evidence?" she asked them, and then turned to lord to say: "I'll ask Godric to have a word with them."

"But professor…" one tried.

"The lord is a dear friend to the four of us," she said. "He built some of these walls. He gave this castle a name, and his magic is resting in its very foundation."

"I do think the magic bit was a bit much."

"Well, it's there now and it will always be there. Now, I'll have to go and tell Godric about unruly students. Escort me."

"Bossy."

Rowena raised a single eyebrow, the lord rolled his eyes and he held out an arm. She wrapped hers around his and they wandered down the hall, leaving both confused and fuming students behind them.

-o-

The strange man, to some students, and lord to others, had a tendency to wander the halls. Sometimes he popped in during lessons, more often than not bringing someone with him. At times, a pale man with tattoos and quiet manner. Other times, a dark-haired woman who seemed to think it her duty to protect him from everything and everyone.

As winter drew closer the four founders had finally begun to find witches and wizards willing to be professors, meaning they could step back a bit and not running themselves to the ground. Salazar found a cousin's child who taught defence spells, and Rowena was pleased with the recommendation of a young wizard who was very adept at transfiguration.

Helga refused to leave Herbology to anyone else but instead of all four tending to injuries made during lessons she found a healer and they made space for a healing wing.

As they began spending less time teaching students, they began working more long-term. Getting professors full-time, adding quarters and working out courses.

"This is so boring," the lord said.

"Yes, which is why you're lying on the floor reading a book upside-down," Salazar said at his desk. "Why upside-down?"

"It's more challenging this way."

"Just that?"

"And I won't get bored as quickly."

"I've stopped asking," Godric told Salazar. "Especially after he spelled a book to make the words appear backwards."

"Don't question my methods to stay un-bored, especially when this method involves no violence whatsoever," the lord said and rolled over to his stomach. "Don't you four have paperwork to amuse yourself with?"

"One does not amuse themselves with paperwork," Rowena told him. "Is this why you refused to be the fifth founder?"

"Well, I'm not particularly fond of paperwork… yes; paperwork is why I refused to be the fifth founder. You would've made me _work_."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"What I hate is the fact so many students completely disregard some subjects," Helga said. "_Oh, plants _they will say to me, _why do we need to learn about plants? It isn't important_. Well, you bloody use most of it in potions!"

She came very close to stabbing the parchment she had been trying to write on. Rowena subtly pulled the quill from her and put a goblet of wine in her hand instead.

"I have found that children are far more interested in transfiguration, learning charms, and not doing their homework," the lord said. "Some subjects have to grow on them, but for those who are interested, you must be like a goddess in their eyes."

"He does have his charm, this lord," Salazar said.

"You like it when I call you nice things," the lord said. "Besides, it's not like I lied."

"A goddess?" Helga repeated, half-finished with the wine. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I've heard the students talk about you. Definitely a goddess."

"Keep reading your book, or I'll make you help with my papers."

He immediately got the book up again and pretended to be very busy. He ignored their sniggers.

Ywgraine, it turned out, liked her new work so much the lord let her continue with it. She came home every night, after all, and Elise could visit her whenever she wanted. The lord felt… domesticated. Not a feeling that sat right with him, but the peace of the school and the four founders, he could deal with that.

Sort of.

Well, sometimes.

Okay, only when he felt like it.

But some days he didn't want to be in the castle, he wanted to do something _fun _but nowadays the fun stuff had turned boring and killing people was so easy it got just tedious. Digging through corpses wasn't challenging, and he stopped digging through living people due to their screams grating his ears. So he found himself some days hugging some Dementor as he lay in bed, trying to keep his mind occupied. The Dementors had a tendency to start petting his hair when he did that and it wasn't so bad.

At least they liked him no matter what he did.

One day though he took a Dementor with him. A few students milled around the entrance hall when he stepped through. They all moved away from the Dementor as it hovered right behind him. No one was stupid enough to mention it, or, god forbid, make a move to try and hurt it.

Godric however, said:

"Um, how about not bringing the Dementors inside the school?"

"It's just one," the lord said. "Besides, I've told it not to take anything."

"Anything?"

"Any of that happiness. Believe me; I had to argue for ten minutes about it."

"Why is it moving like that?"

"Like what?"

"Sort of… hanging its head?"

"Oh, it's sulking because I won't let it eat your students' happiness. Or their souls."

"Aha. I see."

So the Dementor got to follow him, and it hid behind the chair as he ate supper. He turned around at one point to look at it and said:

"It's just a little staring, you know."

The Dementor screeched. A few students jumped. More of them jumped when the lord replied in the same screeching manner, as if he was having a normal conversation. The four founders didn't even look at him. But he did take a look at the students.

It was different to see the hall from the place where the professors sat. He wasn't quite used to it. But some things had already started. Not that it was noticed in the hall, no, but he could hear it when he skulked around in the corridors, hidden from view.

Slytherin's house not accepting Muggleborns, the Gryffindors being proud and visible. Helga's house ignored, as if they were nothing and Rowena's sometimes assumed as stuck-up and stickler for rules.

_Some things never change _he thought. To think in his time, such thoughts still stuck around. He knew why Salazar didn't accept Muggleborns, knew how little the man knew of the Muggle world. To him, it was a frightening world and the children from there were nothing he could even remotely relate to. Would he get worse, hate them purely because their home was not a magical one? Well, the lord had to admit he wasn't that much better.

He didn't fear Muggles; he just hated them based on his childhood. Was it petty? Of course it was, he knew that better than anyone. It was just at this point in time, he'd stopped caring. The four founders still let him hang around. But they seemed a bit nervous at times, at least Godric and Helga did. Were they nervous for the sake of the Muggleborns, thinking he'd attack them?

The lord had no interest in that. School children, or any child, were hardly a challenge. Killing them would be boring and should only be done if they tried to attack him. Muggle hunting had been fun once, because Muggles reacted differently to have their dead relatives rising once more, but even that got boring after a while. Maybe he should start experimenting again… not digging through corpses but perhaps some spells? Or potions? No, he wasn't too fond of potions and had no interest in it at the moment. But a spell or two wouldn't be too bad.

The Dementor eventually came out, gripping the lord's chair and breathing in his neck.

"Doesn't that ever disturb you?" Godric wondered.

"No, it's actually quite cool when they're around."

"Don't talk about that when it's winter… we have to keep the fireplaces going constantly, and the dorms are still cold during the night."

"I suppose warming charms doesn't quite cut it when it's such a large place."

"No, they don't." Godric took a drink from his goblet. "I mean, Rowena has been pouring over books, trying to find a solution, and she's finally dragged Salazar into that madness. It's all they do, reading!"

"It doesn't hurt to read a book once in a while," the lord said.

"I do read books! Not just as many as they do."

"Dreadful," Helga added. "All evening, all night… we have to drag them to bed."

"Sometimes pin them down."

"Just pin them down?" the lord wondered.

"Oh, they wouldn't mind if you did more than just pin them down," Helga said. "You might even convince them to stop while it's still evening."

"No, it's easier to just knock them out."

"Not a single romantic bone in that body, is there?"

"If there was, do you really think I'd be this way? Besides, romance is boring."

"Only you would say such a thing," Godric replied.

Well, it was the truth for him anyway. The lord wasn't sure when he had lost interest in anything related to romance, only that he had. Right now he wasn't even sure he'd ever been interested in a relationship in the first place. How did people look at relationship in this time, in this society? It had to be different from the future. The lord had never paid much attention to the whole aspect. Why wonder about man and wife and sex when there were new ways to kill people to discover?

"Anyway, we were talking about heating up the castle," he said, returning to the subject at hand. "At least the fire is magical?"

"Yes. However, all of the dorms are still suffering."

"Hmm, might have to work on insulating them somehow."

"Insu-what?" Helga asked.

"Protect them," the lord corrected himself.

What? It wasn't easy to know what word came when in time, when he hadn't had an interest in it in the first place. Thank Merlin they saw him as an odd one already.

"But not while the students are there," Helga said. "There will be time for them to go home soon, for some rest over the winter. You think you can give us a hand?"

"Why not? It's not like I've got anything else to do."

-o-

The students had gotten used to the strange man, lord, more or less as the first year of schooling drew to an end. Winter had been harsh but the dorms had during the winter been somewhat shielded from the cold, and during the summer the founders would have more time for it.

As the school emptied out, the lord snuck around in the halls, wondering what to do about the warmth. The castle was nice and cool during spring and summer, but what to do about it during the winter months?

"Anything?" Rowena said when he showed up in the Great Hall. She was surrounded by books, left and right and probably on the bench on either side… yeah, there they were. She looked like she hadn't slept in days.

"Not so far," he replied. "Did the students complain about the cold in the corridors?"

"Mostly in their dorms," Helga said as she came closer.

"If we start there," the lord said, "and then perhaps work our way to the halls… hmm, I might want to talk to Elise."

"Why?"

"Because she's the one that has done most work on my manor," he replied. "She might have an idea or two. Why didn't I think of that before?"

"You spent the better half of spring screaming into your pillow on how boring life was," Ywgraine commented, having popped up out of nowhere. When he turned to look at her, she continued, "What? Lucian told me all about it."

"Well, I was bored. So sue me."

"So what?"

"Nothing."

He kept forgetting, even after all these years, that sometimes he said things that hadn't been invented in speech patterns yet. _It's not that easy not knowing what one could say or not. Besides, I learnt that mostly from America things, and that's modern America. _Suddenly he felt like visiting America. Maybe because uncle Vernon once said he would never amount to anything, much less travel anywhere.

_Great, now I feel like killing a Muggle that looks like an uncle who won't be born for many, many years… I hate my life sometimes. _He shook his head to clear away the thoughts. America could wait. Killing his uncle… well, that could still be done. Eventually. Once the man had the decency to get himself born just so the Nightmare Lord could rip him to pieces.

"Could you call Elise?" Rowena asked. "Salazar might go mad if he has to keep searching."

Elise was called, and she sat down with Rowena and Salazar to discuss things while the Nightmare Lord walked outside. If he was needed, Elise would call for him.

He turned to look at the castle from the outside. The castle they let him name. The castle that was the four founders' lives. Their crown achievement. To him? A footnote in his life. Well, perhaps a paragraph, it was important after all, but in the end the four friends would die and he… wouldn't be left alone, but he would lose them.

A twinge in his chest, and he grimaced. _Sometimes I felt better not remembering who I was. But at least I know a broken heart won't kill me. _Even if he sometimes wished it did.

"I should order portraits of them," he mused. "Portraits that come alive. Because I'm at the point of insanity that speaking to pictures aren't that big of a deal."

To be continued…

* * *

Late, and short! Gah!

Chapter twenty-four: A student feels offended by the Nightmare Lord, and the student's father demands a duel in the Nightmare Lord's home! Oh, no, whatever shall the lord do with this?

Until later,

Tiro


	24. Chapter 24

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Thanks for all the reviews, and yet again, sorry for having it posted so late (and also how short it is). Enjoy reading!

_Gore and violence is (sort of) described here._

-o-

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Another year began at Hogwarts. Some of the students returned for further education while others, usually younger, were new. The new ones were told about the strange man, the lord, while some of the old students carried on like usual, already knowing about him.

The lord had been known to approach students. Sometimes to ask them things. Sometimes to tell them things. Once or twice he just looked at them. One of them was a Malfoy, and Malfoys did not appreciate being stared at. Finally the young man was fed up and snarled at the lord:

"What is it?"

This only earned an amused smile from the lord, who then patted his cheek and said:

"Thank you. I missed seeing Draco's sneering face. You Malfoys are hilarious."

Then he walked away, and didn't explain what he meant. This however, was the usual norm. He seldom explained things he did. At least to the students. Hopefully the four founders knew more than they did.

However, not all accepted this and moved on, allowing the lord to be eccentric and strange. One student in particular took offense to having his questions ignored.

"When I ask something, I expect an answer!" he said to the lord.

"Is that so?" the lord replied.

"So you have to give me one!"

"I don't have to give you anything," the lord said.

"My father is powerful, and the offense stretches back to him."

"Does it now? Look at how much I don't care."

The lord seemed more amused than anything else, and Malfoy, who had seemingly been so angry with the lord, was smiling. Others milled around. Some of them were nervous, others were angry. Some of them were amused like Malfoy. There were a few portraits on the wall, and they were chattering amongst themselves. Whispers of calling for the four founders before the lord got upset, and creative.

None of the students knew what 'creative' meant when mixed with the lord, but by the sounds of it they didn't really want to find out.

"You'll regret that," the student said and took out his wand.

"Duelling is forbidden in the corridors," the lord said. "God knows why, it's a great stress-reliever but that's what Rowena wants and what she wants, she gets."

"It's not going to be a duel. I'm going to defeat you."

"… Are you now? Alright, go ahead. You get one chance, one spell, and I won't do anything. That doesn't count as a duel, right?"

He shooed away the students near him so the area around him cleared up. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

The spell came out purple, no one knowing what kind of spell it was, and hit the lord. The spell enveloped him. Some of the students gasped. Another, Malfoy, had his wand out at the student.

"Are you trying to kill him?" Malfoy shouted.

"Yes!"

"Well, it didn't work now did it?"

The lord appeared from the light and shook the rest of the spell away.

"Now you had your shot," he said. "I won't kill you because frankly? You aren't even worth that much of my time. So I'll just do this…"

A wave of his arm, magic unleashing from his person, and the student was hanging upside-down from the ceiling. His wand clattered onto the floor.

"Get me down!"

"No, I don't think I will. Don't worry; I'll make sure _all _of the professors know why you are going to be late for class."

And that was it. Well, at least that seemed to be it.

-o-

The forest next to Hogwarts was mostly empty except for the trees, but the lake already had mermaids living in it. The lord wasn't too interested in learning more about mermaids, although they did seem to like him when they found him near the shore.

As he sat there during some days, he wondered about things. He felt subdued a lot. Perhaps it was him giving up a larger part of his old life. Killing people, destroying villages and making the world fear him… perhaps he was subconsciously tired of it. No, wait, he was tired of it.

Killing felt good, but once it was done he didn't feel any better. Destroying villages satisfied him for mere days before boredom set in. Making people fear him was all good and that, but didn't stop the boredom at all. He used to pass the time by sleeping, but right now he wanted to enjoy the four friend's company. Salazar and Rowena arguing over books, Helga and Godric trying to make them eat something at least… Helga with her plants, Godric with his humour… the lord liked it. Sleeping meant he would miss it, and he could always sleep after they died.

Because they would die. He had asked if they would sit for paintings to be made, and they had all accepted. They thought it quirky, a bit strange but they still didn't believe he was immortal. They didn't know he knew they would die one day, and he would still be there. Only he would be more alone. He could sleep then. Sleep the seasons away, and ignore the world.

Sleeping was boring, but at least he wasn't aware of it while he was doing it. He just vanished. Stopped being. That was the only reason he liked to sleep at all.

A mermaid child poked his toes now, and the lord looked at her. Her screeching didn't bother him; it was merely her language. Hardly her fault it couldn't be understood above water.

He left her alone, and she soon enough dove back under the water as he walked back towards the castle. Shifting both personalities and tempers was something he should be used to; he'd done it for centuries after all. But it was still a bit jarring, how he went from one mood to another. He hadn't had a violent outburst for years though. He hadn't felt like hurting his servants ever since he met the four founders.

Had they really such an effect on him? Was it their kindness towards him, even when he had been so cruel? Or was it who they were that set something off in him? The lord was no longer that little child heading to Hogwarts for the first time. He was older than the four founders, more feared than Salazar Slytherin ever would be.

And how would that be now? Would Salazar have a falling out with the rest of them? The lord wished now that he had read more about the four founders, but who could've known he would meet them one day? That he would become their friend?

He set back towards the school, shaking the thoughts away. Students parted for him as he walked down the halls. He wandered for a while, finding odd nooks and corners, and strange corridors before going to Salazar's office.

"I'm busy," Salazar told him as he stepped inside. "Just so you know."

"I'm sure I can entertain myself. I've been doing it for years."

"Yeah, just don't kill anyone while entertaining yourself."

"Oh, I make no promises."

Salazar merely rolled his eyes and returned to the paperwork. The lord sauntered over to the bookshelf and grabbed one before settling in for some reading. Yeah, so he had mellowed out he supposed. For now at least.

-o-

The four founders didn't know what to do with lord Eurys when he came to the school and challenged the Nightmare Lord of all people. He babbled something about his son being offended and Salazar looked at Godric, who merely shrugged. They all knew the student; Ulgar, one of Salazar's actually but with a temper and a hatred for people above him. Meaning, Ulgar gave Salazar a headache pretty much every day.

"I demand to have the duel done now!" lord Eurys said, Ulgar smirking beside him.

"With all due respect," Helga said as she crossed her arms, "I have no idea where he is at the moment."

"Then you will call him here, and he will accept my demand!"

Like father, like son, and Rowena, Helga and Godric could already see Salazar rubbing his temples. Or trying to drown himself later in wine.

"Very well," Rowena said to their surprise. "I'll fetch Ywgraine, one of his servants and see if she could let her master know about this."

Ywgraine was more than happy to Apparate, something that made lord Eurys and Ulgar stare, to let her master know about the challenge. She reappeared after a few minutes, smiled brightly at father and son before saying:

"Master said he can't be bothered coming here just to appease an idiot."

Lord Eurys looked ready to implode.

"However," she continued, "he felt generous enough to offer you a trip to his manor if you still insist on your silly little duel, oh you so offended piece of shit. Master's words, not mine. You can agree on what the winner gets once you get there."

"Take us there then!" he demanded.

"I won't miss this for the world," Salazar said. "Rowena, one of your necklaces, please."

"Oh, we won't miss this either," Rowena said. "Give me a moment."

Soon they were on their way, the other professors notified of the temporary absence of the four founders. They travelled to the manor, Ywgraine side-Apparating with father and son while the four founders took a Portkey.

The Nightmare Lord was waiting for them in the main hall. For once, he had a wand in his hand. A bone-white wand that he caressed as they approached. Elise stood beside him. As they came closer, the four founders felt as if the magic in the manor was humming according to the lord's caresses of the wand. But that was just silly… right?

"Alright then. You the idiot?" he asked and pointed the wand at lord Eurys. The humming stopped.

"You will not take that tone with me."

"Oh, really? Now what the hell do you want to duel about?"

"You dishonoured my son."

"You're seriously going to have a duel with me over that? The fact I made your son throw a hissy fit?"

"You can't talk your way out of it!"

"Fine," the lord said, "fine! Let's go and have this duel."

"I demand compensation when I defeat you."

The Nightmare Lord looked at lord Eurys and said:

"Seriously? Fine, whatever, we'll talk about what you get if you defeat me, and what I get if I defeat you."

They moved further into the manor, through a set of double-doors that the lord closed behind them after saying:

"We'll just be a minute or so."

Ulgar looked so self-assured that Salazar whimpered and pressed his face into Godric's shoulder.

"Why do I have all these idiots in my house?" Salazar demanded to know.

"Don't worry, we all have our fair share of them," Godric assured, patting him on the back.

"I don't see what you see in that man. Why you respect him. He's obviously nothing," Ulgar said.

"What makes you think that?" Rowena asked.

"It's clear as day. Just look at this manor, and did you even see him? What could possibly make him a lord?"

"Do you really think your father will win?" Helga wondered.

"Of course! Father is a skilled dueller. He's laid waste to more than one person who pretends to be better than they are. This house and all of the slaves will be ours soon," Ulgar boasted.

"I think you two are underestimating him a fair bit," she said.

"They're not slaves," is what Rowena reacted on. She looked at Elise who stood still and said nothing. "They are _not _slaves."

"Looks that way to me," Ulgar said with a shrug.

Just then Lucian walked by. They then heard the sounds of spells being cast, and the four founders tensed slightly. Lucian only glanced further into the manor before shrugging and walking upstairs.

"Well, I suppose I'll have the man or men work somewhere I won't have to see them. But the woman here, and the one at school… I can have so much _fun _with them."

Elise began to check her nails as the duel appeared to go down somewhere inside the manor.

"Elise, where might they be fighting?" Rowena asked.

"Ballroom probably."

"What's a ballroom?" Salazar asked, lifting his head to look at Elise.

She shrugged. "No idea. Master said posh people usually had a few."

"Ballrooms?" Godric said, sounding sceptical.

"Master appeared to know about them, so he must have seen one at some point," Elise said.

A large bang had four founders and Ulgar jump. A chandelier above them shivered with the force, and Lucian appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Is master duelling, or redecorating?" he asked Elise.

"Duelling," she replied. "Last time he tried to redecorate by blowing something up, he nearly cut off his own head so I made him promise not to do it again."

"Right," Lucian said and came back downstairs. "Who is he duelling?"

"An idiot."

"My father's no idiot!" Ulgar spat at them. "Once you're mine woman, I'll make you regret those words!"

"What?" Lucian said.

"Apparently the idiot thought if he won, he would win master's housings and us."

"If he won? Well, that certainly makes him an idiot if he thinks like that."

The doors opened and the lord stepped out. Ulgar screamed.

The Nightmare Lord was covered in blood, and he bounced lord Eurys' head from hand to hand as he walked closer.

"Now, let's see… we made a deal, me and your father," the lord said. Some shuffling steps alerted the founders of an Inferius, but Ulgar shrieked at seeing the walking corpse. "Hey, you… catch!"

He threw the head to the Inferius and tried to clean his hands on his robes. Then he looked down at his robes.

"Sorry, Elise. I appear to have destroyed another set of robes."

"I noticed that."

"See, that sarcasm is uncalled for. Now where was I? Oh yes, the deal we made. If he won, he got everything I had. If I won, I got everything he had," the lord said as he looked at Ulgar. "Family included."

"What?!" Ulgar screamed.

"Only fair since he wanted my servants."

Did the lord realize how it sounded? The four founders looked at each other. It sounded like the Nightmare Lord had acknowledged his servants as family. Was it intentional?

"So you're my property now," the lord continued and walked up to the frozen Ulgar. He grabbed Ulgar's chin and had a good look at him.

"Will you make him into your servant?" Rowena asked.

"You remind me of someone," the lord said. "Not your looks, but your personality… you both got whatever you wanted, your fathers spewed a lot of nonsense, and… violence, you both like it. Yes. You remind me of Cousin."

A new character from the lord's earlier life. They knew of Aunt and Uncle, the people who had grown into demons in the lord's mind. What had that cousin done to earn themselves such hatred from the Nightmare Lord?

"What are you talking about?" Ulgar said, regaining his speech. "You don't own me! How dare you!"

"I'm the Nightmare Lord," he replied. "I dare anything. I do anything. Everything. Because in every way, I'm still a nightmare."

He grabbed Ulgar around the throat and forcefully turned him to face Elise.

"What do you think, Elise?" he said. "What shall I do about this boy?"

She looked at him.

"He said he would have fun with me and Ywgraine," she said.

"I see. Would you like to have fun with him, Elise?"

"Yes."

Ulgar looked conflicted, but the lord eased the young man's face into one of horror with the words:

"Of course, Elise's version of fun isn't your version, boy. Her involves a lot more breaking of bones and gutting people. She's _very _good at that. After all, she learned by watching me slaughtering hundreds of people."

"Can I have him, master?" Elise asked.

"Go ahead. You can do whatever you want with him." The lord let go of Ulgar.

Elise became someone else before them. One moment she was calm, the next she was grinning. Magic surged around her and she threw Ulgar out of the manor, his painful cries echoing on the grounds. She turned to the lord.

"I'll do my very best then," she said.

"Good girl," was all the lord said before she ran outside.

It didn't take long for Ulgar to start screaming. The lord tried to wipe his hands again, clucked his tongue and then said:

"Yeah… I guess it's my fault she turned out that way. Anyway. Lucian."

"Yes, master?"

"I might have messed up the ballroom a bit."

Lucian walked up to the doors and glanced inside as the lord sauntered after him.

"Are those entrails hanging in the chandelier?" Lucian asked as he looked back at the lord.

The lord looked inside for a moment before returning to his original position. He was quiet for a bit.

"Yes, those are entrails hanging in the chandelier," he confirmed at last.

"I see. _Why _are they hanging there?"

"Because they don't have a body to be in anymore?"

The four founders stared.

"But why the chandelier, master?"

"It wasn't like I was aiming for it, they just happened to end up there!"

Lucian sighed.

"Fine. Go and wash the blood off."

"Should I try to salvage these clothes?"

"Don't bother," Lucian said as he looked over the fabric. "It's easier to buy a new set… again."

"I don't destroy clothes that often."

"You destroy it more often than anyone I know, master."

"Nonsense."

The lord turned to them.

"Well… I guess you've lost a student today?" he said to them.

"I'll go and get started on the paperwork," Salazar said. "Although I should make you do it, lord, since you're the one who had him removed."

"Hardly my fault idiots want to duel me and risk their entire family. Oh, that's right… I own the entire family now. And their houses. Lucian, do tell Elise to get that information out of the boy before she kills him."

"Yes, master."

With that the Nightmare Lord went upstairs.

-o-

Ulgar's disappearance was mentioned, Salazar carefully wording the truth in a way that didn't freak people out. His entire family had already disappeared, and Rowena told the lord:

"I do _not _want to know what you will do with them."

"Alright," the lord conceded. "To be honest, I don't really know myself. But I'm selling their housing. It's ugly."

"It's big," Salazar offered.

"But ugly."

"You're really vain sometimes, you do realize that?" Salazar continued.

"One of my many faults, I'm sure."

"You aren't even ashamed of it."

"Not one bit," the lord said. "It would be rather stupid of me to be ashamed of something I so readily admit. I picked Elise and Lucian because they were pretty."

Rowena rolled her eyes.

"When you find out what you're going to do to the family, don't ever tell me," she said.

"Of course not."

He did sell the house rather quickly, which wasn't difficult as many desired it. Meanwhile rumours had begun to spread in the school of what had actually happened to Ulgar. The four founders weren't exactly sure what had happened to him as he was still alive when they left the lord's manor that day.

When the lord left for the night, the four founders had gathered in Helga's office.

"Do you think someone else is going to try something?" Rowena wondered.

"Against the lord?" Salazar said. "No idea. But there's no shortage of idiots even in this school."

"There, there, at least you won't have to worry about Ulgar anymore," Godric said as he patted Salazar's shoulder.

"It feels silly to tell students not to antagonize the lord," Helga said, "but if something similar happens I just might do it."

"I second that," Salazar replied.

"Absolutely," Rowena agreed. "The lord has been following our wishes rather well, not trying to antagonize any of the students. He didn't even duel Ulgar, because I'm against duelling in the corridors."

"Let's just hope no one is that idiotic again…" Godric said.

But of course he was wrong.

_To be continued…_

* * *

Cliffhanger!

Chapter twenty-five: A student falls in love with Elise, and isn't too pleased when the lord won't hand her over to him. What will happen?

Until later,

Tiro


	25. Chapter 25

**Birth of a Nightmare Man**

**Summary**: Prequel to The Nightmare Man. How did Harry Potter become a feared lord of ancient times? Here we'll see the start of it.

**Pairing/s**: None.

**Warnings**: Violence, gore, evil!Harry and Twisted!Harry. Seriously, for quite a bit he's not friendly at all with humans. **Be warned**.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing this or any other fanfiction.

-o-

Thanks for all the reviews!

Someone said it might be interesting if a student got a crush on the Nightmare Lord. Which got me thinking… yeeees. That might actually happen. In fact, I got more ideas just reading your reviews.

And now, enjoy this chapter!

_Gore and violence is described here._

-o-

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Some time passed, and Ulgar's disappearance became a thing of the past. He had a few friends but they were wise enough not to try and get revenge. Or perhaps they were too frightened, as the news of Ulgar's entire family disappearing reached the school eventually.

As for the lord, he began a habit of carrying wands every now and then. There were three different ones on his belt one day, and Rowena asked:

"Why do you have three wands?"

"Well," the lord began and took one of them, "this one was mine originally. I've had this since I was a child. This one belonged to an enemy, but the core's the same as mine so it's sort of attached to me. And this third one, I took it from someone and it became mine."

"Oh." Rowena looked closer at all three without touching them. The bone-white one was something she'd never seen before. "So this white one belonged to an enemy?"

"Yes. It was given to me afterwards."

"What kind of enemy?"

The lord looked at the bookshelves surrounding them for a moment.

"An enemy I didn't ask for," he replied at last. "I think… it was one of the first people I killed. It wasn't about having fun back then; it was to kill or be killed. I took his life to survive myself. Stupid really."

"Stupid?"

"Things happened after that," the lord said and took the white wand in his hands. "Sometimes… I will look back at that moment and wish… that he had killed me instead."

Rowena startled. The lord smiled a bit and said:

"Don't tell Elise or the others that, alright? They get so anxious when I talk about being dead, as if it'll make me leave them."

_How old is he? _She wondered this as he began to walk around the office, glancing at books. She couldn't convince herself he wasn't old, with the way he talked. But his face… he didn't look old. So many believed the Nightmare Lord was different people, impersonating one. Could it really be that he was the only one?

However, that would mean he was hundreds of years old! Rowena shook her head. Could someone live that long and remain sane? Then again, the lord was unstable at best. He had been on good behaviour for a while, but who knows what he was like when he wasn't there with them?

This was giving her a headache, per usual. The Nightmare Lord was a nightmare in more ways than one. Rowena gave up thinking about it for now, and followed his journey across her office.

"Have you tried to fit an entire library in here?" he wondered.

"It's not that many books."

"Well, it's a lot of books."

"Not enough to make it into a library!"

"It could be that you tried to make a small library."

"It's not a library," Rowena said. "I just like books."

"I suppose I like them too. Funny that, I was never the studious type as a child."

"You weren't?"

"Aunt told me she would starve me if I dared to be better than Cousin, so I learned early to give up."

"That's… horrible."

"Horrible pretty much sums them up. Aunt, Uncle and Cousin." The lord took out a book. "That's sort of funny too. I never get over it. One should leave the past behind if it hurts you, right? Instead I keep dragging it with me. I can't leave it behind, no matter how much I hate it."

"It's not really funny," Rowena said. "But I can understand it. Being unable to leave the bad things behind."

"Guess I deserve it. I'm a bad man after all. A nightmare can have nightmares too. Ooh, this book, I haven't seen it before?"

"I just got it," Rowena said, willing to let the subject drop. "It's got some interesting potions in it, so I was thinking of sharing it with Salazar later. He does love to experiment."

-o-

Elise came to visit Ywgraine one day, and one student from Rowena's house was completely taken with her the moment he saw her. Ywgraine couldn't have anything like drinks or snacks in the library, Rowena's rules, so instead they settled down with a book.

"Are you seriously going for her, Ragnall?" one said to him. "She's much older."

"Mature," Ragnall corrected. "Besides, she's a beauty."

"She belongs to the lord," another told him. "Give it up; she's a servant in any case. You're already betrothed!"

"She can be my mistress," Ragnall said. "Even if she's a servant. The lord will accept if I give him enough money, I'm sure."

"Hey, he's more or less responsible for the ending of Ulgar's family."

"That has nothing to do with this. I'm only buying a servant from him; it's not like I'm going to duel him for it."

However, buying a servant from the four founders' friend wasn't as easy as Ragnall made it sound.

"You want to buy Elise?" the lord said. "She's not for sale."

"Every servant has a price. Just tell me how much I need to give."

"Like I said, she's not for sale," the lord repeated. "Even if you offered me your entire family to be eviscerated and hung for the crows to eat, I wouldn't hand her over."

With that the lord left.

"All servants has a price," Ragnall told his friends, writing a letter to his father. "I'll just have to bother him long enough for him to be fed up and offer the servant to me."

"See, you don't even know her name!" one of his friends said.

"I'll just force the lord to tell me, or I'll give her a more fitting name."

His father responded favourably, especially after Ragnall sent a small sketch of Elise. They could share the servant, in his father's opinion, and Ragnall had no problem with that.

Soon enough they noticed the lord began to act differently. He seemed to be a bad mood most of the time. Ragnall knew his father was good at negotiating, but when that didn't work his father began employing more dirty methods. He was no doubt digging up dirt on the lord while sending letter after letter to said lord to keep him busy from noticing anything.

Meanwhile, Ragnall learned Elise's name and found it a bit lacking. He kept thinking what he would make her do once she was his servant. She wouldn't be doing the laundry and such, no. She would be… a companion, perhaps. Sitting there and looking pretty during the days, and then during the nights…

"You're really intent on getting her."

"Of course I am," Ragnall said. "What I want, I get. The lord is looking mighty upset nowadays."

-o-

The four founders had noticed this. The lord didn't come as often, and when he did he had headaches and complained about letters.

"Someone is annoying me," the lord said. "But it's the father of one of your students and I don't want to cause waves so I'm really, _really _refraining myself from just going over there and rip his heart out of his throat."

"Why out of his throat?" Rowena asked.

"Because it'd take longer and hurt him more," the lord replied. "Or maybe I'd break the ribcage open and remove all of his organs before killing him."

"Master has received an average of three letters a day," Lucian said, as he had followed the lord to Hogwarts. "There are some people trying to investigate him as well. So far they don't know the location of the manor, but I do believe they've made the connection that master is actually the Nightmare Lord."

"Will that cause you problems?" Godric asked. "We could try and do something about it."

"More like it can cause troubles for you," the lord said, "and if I know humans good enough, which I think I do, they will try and use that to get me to do what they want me to do."

"Which is what?"

"One of your students wants me to sell Elise to him," he told Helga. "Most likely because of sexual reasons. After all, he's a young man and also thinks he has the right to do whatever he wants."

"Does Elise know this?" Helga demanded to know.

"Of course she does," the lord said. "Even before I was approached she told me there was a man who wouldn't stop staring at her breasts, as if that was the only interesting part of her. I don't understand this whole sexual thing; why are men so obsessed with thinking they can do whatever they want with women's bodies?"

"Because most of us are idiots who have been taught that way," Salazar replied. "My father is like that. No wonder mother despised him."

"I never thought that," the lord said. "Then again, I had many other faults to make up for that one fault most men have."

"You aren't going to sell her, are you?" Rowena had to ask.

"Why would I do that? She's my servant. I didn't make her my servant only to sell her to someone else later."

"I knew you'd say something like that, I guess I just needed to hear it out loud."

"Elise wouldn't let me sell her either," the lord continued. "She'd probably punch me in the face if I ever even suggested it."

"Elise… punching _you _in the face?" Godric said. "Aren't you talking about the impossible?"

"No, it could happen. I can see it sometimes that she wished she had done it already. I'm _that _annoying."

"To be fair," Lucian, "you do test our patience at times."

"I didn't mean to blow the cauldron up!"

"What cauldron?" Godric asked.

"Do we even want to know?" Salazar continued.

"I was just testing something," the lord said.

"And?" Helga wondered.

"His skin melted off his face," Lucian told them and the lord buried his face in his hands.

"Don't tell them that, it's embarrassing!"

"Melted… off?" Helga repeated. "What was the potion supposed to do? If it was a potion he was making?"

"Well, it was supposed to melt skin off. The balance however, was off and thus it exploded."

"Violently," the lord added. "I had to replace a bench and part of the floor. Elise just gave me a look. I can't stand that look."

He seemed to be feeling a bit better, but none of the four founders allowed themselves to forget what he said about the letters, and the student wanting to buy Elise. They refused to let someone use them to put pressure onto their friend.

-o-

Ragnall was growing tired of the lord. He still refused to sell Elise. At this point, they would have to threaten to expose his identity as the Nightmare Lord to shatter the four founders of Hogwarts.

But one day, Rowena rose up at the evening meal and said:

"Could I please have your attention for a moment?"

The talking died down as all of the students turned to her.

"We have an announcement to make," she told them. "This might be a bit sudden, or perhaps a bit late, but this is something we agreed to tell you all. You are free to choose what to do hereafter."

Now they started to glance around, looking for friends or perhaps some clues as to what she was speaking about.

Godric was the next to rise, and then Helga and Salazar followed suit. The rest of the professors remained seated.

"We have since the opening of the school had an honoured guest here from time to time, as you all have seen," Rowena said. "He's a good friend of ours, and has given us much support during the building of Hogwarts."

"What we have not said is who he truly is," Salazar said. "So now we would like to properly introduce you to our good friend… the Nightmare Lord."

The lord stepped inside the Great Hall, flanked by Elise and Lucian. He walked between the tables amongst the whispers, and Ragnall's growing rage. How dare they ruin their plans! Those four founders… now he didn't have the leverage that was sure to bring the lord to sell Elise!

He stood up, but since he wasn't the only one people didn't notice. This… if he couldn't put pressure, then he'd just have to…!

-o-

The four founders didn't notice until someone screamed, and then they all saw it. Ragnall, standing behind the Nightmare Lord, holding onto a sword that had pierced the lord's chest.

At first, the lord looked mostly confused. Then he looked down at the sword sticking out, and coughed. Blood splattered down onto the floor. He staggered before falling down and Ragnall laughed.

"If I had known it was that easy to kill him I would've done it from the beginning!" he exclaimed.

No one tried to approach him. He was grinning from ear to ear at his horrified friends' expressions, the way Rowena's hand gripped Godric's arm. The blood pool grew larger underneath the lord's body and the students hastily backed away.

Only Elise and Lucian remained silent. The students whispered, wondered; why aren't they worried? Why didn't they run to their master's side? Did they not care? Were they servants against their will, and was now free?

Ragnall pushed his hair back and said:

"Now I don't even have to pay anything for her."

"You have attacked a friend of ours," Rowena said. "That will not be forgotten, or forgiven."

"Does it look like I'm going to stay here?" Ragnall yelled. "You don't have anything more to teach me! All I need is the lord's servant. Well, not the man. Too little in the chest area, although his face is pretty."

Elise and Lucian looked at Ragnall, then each other. Lucian said:

"I bet five gold coins that master is going to take his head off."

"Five more if he rips the heart out," Elise said.

"Deal."

"What?" Ragnall said. "Your master is dead, and now you're free for me to take!"

"Master, please stop scaring your friends," Elise said, "and get up."

"Fine, fine," the lord said as he hopped up again, sword sticking out of his chest. "I was just trying to be dramatic for once."

"You're always dramatic," Lucian said.

Meanwhile everyone was staring. Rowena stammered out:

"But… the sword… it's through… through your heart."

"I've told you before, Rowena. I'm immortal."

He spread his hands and spun on his heels to look at the students. Some of them were whispering but most simply stared in shock.

"I am the Nightmare Lord," he said. "The one who has lived for hundreds of years. I have seen the rise and fall of families. I have destroyed villages, I have set people's life on fire and watched them burn. I have seen the fall of an empire. Look at me! Look at the man who will live when you all turn into dust!"

He took the sword in both hands and ripped it out. Blood poured out of him and he laughed at their horrified faces.

"I have been shattered into pieces of myself!" he told them, making a stabbing motion with the sword. They all retreated. "My heart has been destroyed, my lungs ripped out. All of my organs have failed, and yet I live! I am the immortal man, the man of nightmares! And you…"

He turned his eyes to Ragnall.

"You've made me very angry," the Nightmare Lord continued in a soft tone. "Now… whatever shall I do with you?"

He stepped through the blood and students began to scream as they all saw the wound on his chest heal. The skin knitted itself back together and the blood flow stopped.

"It might be a bit late," the lord said as he turned to the four founders, "but I am going to kill him."

"The attack was done on you first," Salazar said. "If anyone bothered to read the rules, they will know attacks against others are strictly forbidden. If they occur anyway, the one who is attacked is within their rights to claim the life of the attacker. But if you attack his family, lord, we cannot look away from that."

"Oh, I'll try my best to be satisfied with his death then," the lord said. "Elise."

"Yes?"

"If I try to attack his family, do stop me."

"Yes, master," she said. "By breaking your arms?"

"Well, you're very good at that, but I think my spine's better. That way I won't be able to move until I've calmed down."

"Very well, master. If you try to attack that man's family, I will break your spine."

"Good. Now that's out of the way… I could take my time but we're in a school and being stabbed in the heart really hurts so…"

He swung the sword and neatly looped off Ragnall's head.

"Does that count as taking the head off?" Elise wondered.

"Yes, it does. Five coins," Lucian replied.

"Damn it."

The lord sighed and put the sword over his shoulder. The students were still staring, either at him or at Ragnall's corpse. But some looked at him like they saw something to respect. Malfoy was one of them.

"Show's over," he told them. "So if anyone wants to quit this school because they're friends with the Nightmare Lord, your loss. I would literally kill for a chance to learn from the professors at Hogwarts."

With that he sauntered off. Salazar was quick to start cleaning up and most students seemed to have calmed down. A few of the younger ones were comforted by the elder ones but even they recovered fast.

"I guess it's a good thing most of us are used to seeing things like this," Rowena said. "But to think a student would attack… we need to make the rules more clear."

"Or have more firm consequences for those who breaks the rules," Salazar continued. "Is it only me, or did you also just realize the lord was telling the truth this whole time?"

Helga stopped.

"Oh… oh, he did. Oh dear. He did. He's… oh dear, he's immortal."

"How come that didn't come to me until you just mentioned it? I mean, he gave a speech and all!"

"I guess I was more focused on the fact he had a sword through his chest," Salazar admitted.

"Yeah… me too. Wait, where did he go?"

After ushering the students to their common rooms, reassuring them they could contact their parents at any time if they no longer wished to remain at Hogwarts, the four founders set out to find the Nightmare Lord. It wasn't that difficult; he was in the room they had personally selected for him.

Or rather, he was bathing. He was insistent on having that part and told them Hogwarts would do the rest. They didn't ask more than that, and now Elise was there.

"Lucian went to get master some new clothes," she told them.

"So… he's immortal," Rowena said.

"Master did tell you."

"Yes, he did. We just… didn't believe. Exactly… how old is he?"

"I don't know exactly how old. But I believe he has passed over six hundred years by now. Most likely even more than that."

Six hundred years…

They were all startled by the lord emerging from the bathroom, wrapped up only in a thin robe. He looked at them.

"So now you know," he said. He didn't sound upset or anything like that.

"Now we know," Rowena said. "Yes. I'm sorry we didn't believe you earlier."

"Why should you? I haven't been particularly sane for the last few centuries, so most people must look at me and see only the madness. And if there's something I've learnt, is that people don't believe those they think mad."

"But you told us, and we dismissed it," Helga replied.

"Well, now you believe me. That's good enough. Besides, you would've noticed eventually."

"We would have?" Salazar said.

"Yes. I hate wrinkles, so I don't age!"

They gaped at him. Elise sighed.

"Master is so vain," she said.

"Yes, yes, they already know that part," the lord said. "When I said I picked Elise and Lucian because they were pretty, didn't you figure out I'm pretty vain when it comes to me as well?"

"The world will suffer the day master does get a wrinkle," Elise added.

"There was no need for the sarcasm, Elise."

"Ah, I believe Lucian is back."

"Don't change the subject!"

Helga giggled.

"You're still you," she said. "Only now we know you've lived for a long time. That's why you asked for our portraits, right? To have us when we're gone?"

"Yes…" The lord became very interested in his own hair, brushing through the wet strands. "I never… I don't have a… I don't have a portrait of my friends. I've got nothing but their ashes and a stone I can use to call on their dead souls. But every time you call on dead souls, you are left with a longing."

"A longing?" Godric wondered.

"A longing to join them," the lord explained. "To die with them. I think that's the stone's purpose. To reassure the user… it's okay to die."

Elise came back with a set of robes and pressed them against the lord's chest.

"Master should get dressed," she said.

"There you go again, interrupting me when I talk about dying…"

"We still need to check your heart," she continued. "To make sure it's healing correctly."

"Yes, yes, fine. I'll stop talking about it." To the four founders he shrugged, _what can you do_, and went to get dressed.

"Elise?" Helga tried. "Are you alright?"

"Master always… takes his own life so lightly," she said with her back to them. "He always has. Not even the Dementors can make him change his mind for real. He'll try, and then he'll slip. Since death has no effect on him, master doesn't try to survive. He'll just test the limits… test them until they're too broken to repair him again."

"Are you telling them something unnecessary?" the lord called from the bathroom.

"Only the truth," Elise replied.

"Unnecessary then!"

"Sounds like the lord," Rowena sighed. "I don't know how you put up with him."

"It's a task I gladly take on," Elise said, "for he's the only master for me."

_To be continued…_

* * *

Yay, a bit faster this time!

Chapter twenty-six: The lord likes to test the limits of life and death… and the patience of his servants. What has he done now?

Until later,

Tiro


End file.
